The Baker's Son
by CapitolCouture
Summary: "And then I'm thinking about her, and the heat from the ovens doesn't stop the cold fear from creeping into my mind. Katniss. 20 slips."  Peeta Mellark is District 12's male tribute. Watch as the Hunger Games unfolds- through the eyes of the baker's son.
1. The Baker's Son

**Suzanne Collins owns the Huger Games and all of its characters! **

**A/N: Hello all! **

**This is my first fan fiction, so I hope you like it! I am planning to rewrite the entire Hunger Games (just first book) from Peeta's POV. I know Peeta's POV has been done three-hundred-billion times before, but I haven't seen any that cover the entire book. It's all the same dialogue, so I hope it's not boring for those who have read the book multiple times. However, I hope that you like how I write Peeta's thoughts and the parts we don't get to see when Katniss is narrating! Of course, it will be better when the Games actually begin, because for like half of that Katniss and Peeta are separated. Also, it won't be the full 300-something pages, because Peeta's thoughts are a little more condensed assuming that you already know some background info Suzanne Collins explains. (I think there's about 20 pages for every 60 in the book). Rated T for my extreme paranoia, because there's not really anything bad in this… But it might pick up when the cave comes! Enjoy!**

The house is cocooned in the smell of baking bread. I breathe in, the heavy warmth working to dissipate my frantic thoughts. My nervous hands busy themselves with another batch of dough.

"You don't have to be baking this early, Peeta." My father places one of his strong hands on my shoulder.

I look out of our dirty window for the first time and notice that the sun is still brooding behind the horizon. The racks for bread are almost full.

"People are freer with their money when they learn their children have been spared." I say, and it's true. Most everyone celebrates with luxuries they normally couldn't afford- like bread. But there are always two families who close their shutters and try and block out the world- praying that the arena doesn't swallow their children whole.

My father just grunts.

We're really alike, my father and I. Blonde hair, broad build. But my father, inexplicably, loves a woman I have resolved to hate. He still vacates any room she enters. But I can tell he loves her because he holds her at night, and cries like something's been lost. I think that my mother used to be kind. I guess I'll never know what changed her.

I regard my father. Tired eyes, scarred hands from years at hot ovens. He's a man who doesn't like to waste words. I trust those hands, and I trust every word that comes out of his mouth. My father. One of the only people I love.

And then I'm thinking about her, and the heat from the ovens doesn't stop the cold fear from creeping into my mind. Katniss. She'll have 20 slips this year, you can count on it, because she would've started taking tesserae from the start. And here I am, with only 15, strong and full most nights. And I don't even worry about my slips, or Thom's 21, because Katniss is the girl I love.

I turn around to address my father, urgently, looking for some sort of guidance. "Did you ever have… anyone you cared about reaped?" I ask him.

He seems to struggle to find the right words. "I thought… I thought I cared about them. But If I did, I would have found some way to bring them home."

I wish I hadn't asked.

But then I think of something, something I cling to like the last crust of bread between me and starvation.

I'll save her. If her name gets called, whatever I do, I'll save her.

I start working out a plan, my mind humming with urgency. If she gets called, I'll volunteer for the boy. I'll follow her to the arena, and my dying wish will be to bring her home.

My father taps the back of my hand lightly, and I loosen my grip on the piece of crumpled dough.

"Try and get some sleep Peeta." He says.

I wish I could frost a cake to further calm my nerves, but we only make them as ordered because they're too expensive. My limbs feel heavy as I climb back into my bed. Eventually, I manage to fall asleep.

My eyes flutter open to the sound of the bakery door chiming to signify the arrival of a customer. I can tell by the light that it can't be much later than when I fell asleep. I slowly rise and pause behind my door, where I have a full view of Gale Hawthorne as he greets my father. Immediate resentment floods through me, but I stand silently to watch their exchange.

Gale pulls a squirrel from his game bag and moves to offer more, but my father's hand stops him.

"That's enough." He says, and hands the young hunter a loaf of my bread.

Gale looks at him appreciatively and turns away.

"Good luck." My father tells him, and then he's gone.

I flee back to my bed. The bread must be for Katniss, I know they always spend reaping day together. I want to follow after him and tell him to make her happy on a day when she must be so worried for her sister. I want him to hold her for me in the way she allows only Gale to hold her. I could have so much to say to him, Gale Hawthorne, but we never speak. But, that's understandable.

Gale and I have never been particularly good friends.

**A/N: I hope you liked it! **

**Satisfied reader: Ooh, reviewing sounds like a good idea! **


	2. The Girl With The Beautiful Voice

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all its characters.**

**A/N: I'm submitting chapters rapid fire for now because I wrote ahead for a while before publishing. However, please don't expect me to update this often normally! (Like, 5 chapters in 2 hours.) Lol :D**

My father wakes me 30 minutes past noon. I'm grateful, because he's managed to spare me from the normal morning havoc. My two brothers preparing the bakery for the day, my mother yelling. I change into a clean white shirt and tan pants. Why not dress up for the occasion?

At 1:00 the whole family signs in at the square. Cameramen sit on rooftops, watching the growing crowd like vigilant insects.

Thom and I are herded into the section reserved for boys- Thom finding a group of 17 year olds ahead of me. I see Gale Hawthorne fully immersed in a group of boys from the Seam. My eyes immediately seek out Katniss, but it's hard to see as the crowd grows larger. The square isn't big enough to hold our whole population, so some people are forced to watch in the streets on the Capitol provided screens.

A quiet _bong_ signals the time- 2:00. Our mayor steps up to the podium, right on schedule, leaving our district escort Effie Trinket alone on the stage. Effie is sporting bright pink hair and the usual signs of wasteful Capitol fashion, looking worriedly for the missing member of the ceremony. The whole thing is taking place on a stage in front of the Justice Building, where two glass balls- one for boys' names and one for girls' names- hold the slips that will determine who our district's tributes will be.

The mayor's dry speech, which I usually tune out, offers perfect distraction from my worries. I focus on his words so I don't have to think of the 20 slips of paper in the girls' ball that say Katniss Everdeen in neat handwriting.

"Panem is a country that rose up out of the ashes of a place once called North America. After disasters, droughts, storms, fires, and encroaching seas swallowed up most of the land, a brutal war was waged for what little sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens.

Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace, and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games.

In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy between the ages of 12 and 18, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be held in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins and brings fame and fortune to their district.

It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks." The mayor finishes. "District 12's victors are Kerren Deluse and Haymitch Abernathy."

The latter, our only surviving victor, staggers onto the stage, right on cue. He's drunk, as always, and goes to hug Effie Trinket. The mayor looks embarrassed, probably realizing District 12 is the joke of Panem right now, and quickly introduces her to divert attention from Haymitch.

Effie bounds up to the podium, only slightly ruffled by Haymitch's assault, and trills in her lilting Capitol accent: "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favor! It is such an _honor_ to be here in District 12! Ladies first!" Effie cries, crossing to the girls' ball.

All I can think is _Not Katniss. Not Katniss. Not Katniss. Not Katniss._

And it's not, but it might as well be.

It's Primrose Everdeen.

I'm moving forward because I know what this means even before she does. I see Prim, shaking, walking up to the stage. I'm trying to break through the crowd of boys and get to her, but no one understands the connection I might have to her, because no one but me knows about it.

And then I see Gale, and he's moving toward her too, except people are letting him through. Because it's obvious that he should be up there. But not me. I guess I have no right.

"Prim!" Katniss screams, her voice strangled and tight with fear. "Prim!"

Katniss is in front of the stage now, all attention directed towards her. She pushes Prim behind her. "I volunteer!" She sobs. "I volunteer as tribute!"

The mayor is confused, because we haven't had a volunteer in forever.

"Lovely!" says Effie Trinket. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…"

"What does it matter?" The mayor says, and there's pain in his voice. I wonder how he knows Katniss. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

And then Prim's screaming at her and Katniss says something and Gale's there to carry Prim away and Katniss is shakily climbing the steps up to the stage.

"Well, bravo!" Effie warbles. "That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?"

Katniss swallows. "Katniss Everdeen."

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a round of applause to our newest tribute!"

I'm about ready to strangle our district escort, so my hands aren't clapping. But I'm surprised when no one else does, either. I smile because I understand what they're doing. This is the only rebellion the people of district 12 can muster, but it says something specific. That we do not agree. And we do not forgive them for any of this.

It starts with a miner from the Seam. And then I'm mimicking the gesture, because I remember part of its meaning- goodbye to someone you love. And even though I don't intend to say goodbye to Katniss Everdeen, I touch the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips and raise them out to her. And all around me, Seam and Merchant alike send thanks to our tribute.

Drunk Haymitch Abernathy, completely oblivious to the moment, staggers across the stage to throw his arm over Katniss' shoulder. She sags slightly under his weight and I tense automatically, wishing I could shove him off her.

"Look at her. Look at this one!" Haymitch slurs loudly. "I like her! Lots of…" He takes a while with the word. "Spunk! More than you!" He lets go of Katniss and moves to the front of the stage. "More than you!" And then he falls face first off of the stage.

But I'm not paying attention as Haymitch is carried away on a stretcher, because all I can see is Katniss as she emits a choked sob that seems to tear my heart apart. I'm glad, though, that she's smart enough to know showing weakness when you're the center of attention is a bad move. She's already composed again and I know that she understands the importance of everything she does.

Effie seems vaguely scandalized, so she tries to right the ceremony by speeding everything up. "What an exciting day! But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

She practically runs to the glass ball and is back at the podium, smoothing out the little piece of paper before I can even think.

"Peeta Mellark."

This is not supposed to happen.

I'm shocked, and confused. Someone else was supposed to be called. I was supposed to volunteer, and then I would die for Katniss in the arena. But Effie Trinket called my name. And suddenly I don't feel in control of the situation, and I'm scared to go up to that stage even though that was where I would have gone anyway. And I'm so stupid for thinking I could have planned this out, anyways, because no one can. You're not supposed to control the Capitol's weapon.

I can tell I'm taking too long because some boys are pushing me forward. I steady myself, at least until I can get into the Justice Building, and am glad to find my legs are sturdy enough to climb the stairs and stand next to Katniss.

"Are there any volunteers?" Effie asks, and Thom doesn't come forward. I didn't expect him to anyway.

The mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason in full, but I can tell that Katniss isn't listening so I don't either. She has that look she always has when she's deep in thought- her eyes sort of clear and she looks really focused. I wonder if she's thinking about the bread, if she still remembers that. But all I can see is a tiny girl with two dark braids, looking beautiful in a red plaid dress. And when the little girl sings the valley song, all the birds outside fall silent, because they're in love with her voice. And I'm in love with her.

And it frightens me that the same little girl could now be at death's door.

The mayor finishes and we turn to each other to shake hands. Hers are cold and delicate in mine. I give her hand a squeeze, part to warm it, part to reassure her, and part to steady myself. She has a look on her face that I can't quite decipher as we turn to face the crowd. The anthem of Panem plays, and it's so like a funeral dirge that it sounds like a cruel premonition.

**A/N: I love readers and I love reviewers! Thanks so much for reading!**


	3. Intents and Purposes

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all its characters**

As soon as the anthem ends, we're led into the justice building. Katniss and I in two different rooms. I find myself on a velvet couch, staring at painted walls. This room is ornate and probably the fanciest place I've ever been.

I sit alone for a few minutes, until my father enters to sit quietly beside me.

"What are you going to do?" He asks me in a steady voice.

What am I going to do?

"I'm going to keep her alive, dad. I don't intend to come back."

He nods, as if he expected this. And he might have. He knows how I feel about Katniss.

He looks at me intently. "Peeta, promise me. If she does die, don't give up. Come home, if you can."  
>We sit silently, until father murmurs something like, "That little girl. I buy her cheese."<p>

Something comes over him, and he grips my shoulders urgently. "It's not just about the Game, or about keeping her alive, do you hear me Peeta? It's about the Capitol, because they want to warp you into something evil. Just… Die as yourself, Peeta. Not as a tribute. Die as a baker's son, a 16 year old boy."

I'm trying to understand what my father told me but I hear Peacekeepers outside so I tell him, "I promise. I will. I love you," and he shouts I love you before they make him leave, and the rest of my family enters.

My brothers embrace me, but Thom has been crying.

"Peeta…" He begins, but stops to look down at the thick carpet.

"Thom…"

He looks into my eyes and the question is clearly written in his face- he wants to know if he did something inexcusable.

"No. I didn't want you to volunteer." I say, and guilt dissolves from his eyes.

"You're going to be there for her, aren't you Peeta? You didn't want anyone else to go with her." My mother's voice holds a hint of jeering in it, or I might be imagining it. She pats me on the back. "Maybe District 12 will finally have a winner. She's a survivor, that one."

My heart stings with hurt. I guess I was expecting kinder words from the mother I had already given up on.

Having nothing more to say but goodbyes to my brothers, I let them leave.

My next visitor enters, her blond hair and bright smile pretty much unchanged from yesterday.

"Delly!" I cry, happy to see the girl I practically grew up with.

She hugs me tightly, but then starts crying. She furiously swats at her tears. "I'm so sorry you got reaped, Peeta. I'm so sorry… I shouldn't be the one crying!" She does this sort of thing where she forces herself to laugh, because I guess it cheers her up, but it sounds kind of crazy so I almost laugh myself. But I don't, because somehow I don't think Delly would appreciate that right now, even if she does make the best of every situation.

We're just holding each other until she pulls a tiny loaf of bread out of her pocket, and I see it's made out of wood.

"I would have gotten you a little cake, but…"

She doesn't have to explain why she couldn't get a little wooden cake because I'm holding the bread and hugging her.

"Thank you, Delly, its perfect. But what's it for?"

She shrugs. "They let you have a token with you in the arena. I thought… I thought it might remind you of home." She seems to rethink that and adds, "Or, just think of me. And frosting cakes." Delly echoes my father, because being Delly, of course she can read me like a book. "If she dies, win."

And with that, the Peacekeepers are saying it's time for her to go and I'm left alone to cry. I remember there being cameras at the train station but I don't bother to stop crying, or even wipe my face when I step out of the car and into the train station. Katniss is here. She wears a stoic mask I can guess she had to work hard at assuming.

We stand under the cameras for a little while until they open the train doors, and we're ushered inside.

Effie trinket leads Katniss away, and then comes back to show me my quarters. The train is really beautiful, but I just manage to appreciate the shower before collapsing into the unbelievably soft bed and practically blacking out.


	4. Counsel

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all its characters. **

All I can see is pink.

"Aargh!" I yell as I jolt upright. Effie startles and looks slightly apologetic, cut off mid-word.

"I was just going to say, supper's ready!" She laughs.

"Oh…" I groan sleepily. I have to remember to lock the door tonight.

Effie leaves me to sit at the dining table, staring at my reflection in a remarkably polished silver bowl. While I'm waiting, presumably for Katniss to arrive, I lean over the table and roll a tiny, sphere shaped cake between my fingers. I admire the frosted lace on a flaky looking pastry. I've just started fingering a crescent roll dotted with slivers of almonds when Haymitch appears. He's a little less drunk now but he crosses half of the car before noticing me.

"Uh… I'm going to take a nap." He grumbles at a wall, and then disappears again.

Effie re-appears. I drop the roll guiltily.

Katniss emerges behind her. Her hair is up, in an intricate braid that her mother must have done for her yesterday. She's wearing a deep green shirt and brown pants that fit her comfortably, and a gold pin with a bird… A mockingjay, that must be her token. Her face has been washed clean by the Capitol's showers, and she looks almost peaceful as she treads lightly to sit beside me. She sits down delicately, and although she's strong and sturdy on her feet, I catch her swaying a bit in her chair. As if she was remembering being perched in a tree, and missed it.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks brightly.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap." I notify them.

You can tell Effie's relieved by this news. "Well, it's been an exhausting day." She allows.

Once we're all settled, the food comes. I'm thoroughly distracted by the thick carrot soup because it's so good and they let me just keep ladling it.

"Peeta!" Effie clucks at me, taking the ladle from my hand and plopping it back in the bowl. "There's so much more to come! You have to save room!"

More to come?

Effie's right, because I'm soon presented with salad, then lamb chops and mashed potatoes.

"At least, you two have decent manners." Effie says as we finish. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages." Effie frowns. "It completely upset my digestion."

The last two kids were from the Seam, and you could tell from the lines in their faces and the sharp angles of their bones that they were starving. So coming from Effie Trinket, someone who had always had enough to eat, it definitely rubs me the wrong way. I can see Katniss is thinking the same thing. When she starts eating with her fingers I have to work to hold back my grin.

The last two courses go by in a blur, except for the chocolate, which must be the best thing in the world. Near the end I'm starting to feel a little sick because this is probably the most I've eaten in my whole life, but I manage to push the nausea away.

We move to a plush compartment where we'll meet our competition for the first time. The replays of the reaping start in District 1, where a leering boy and an attractive blonde both volunteer. The boy who volunteers in District 2 is huge and monstrous, his female counterpart smaller but with a cruel glint to her eyes. These will be most of the Career pack, an early formed alliance of tributes from the richer districts, who train for the Games illegally before volunteering for the fame and fortune that comes with victory. I feel slight disgust for the bloodthirsty children of the Capitol's closest friends. In District 12, almost no one volunteers. Our hardship trains us to value life more, I suppose. What Katniss did today was radical to our people, but only natural for a girl with so much compassion.

I look back to the screen to watch a slender girl with red hair and sharp features take her place on the stage. District 6. District 7. Districts 8, 9, 10. Tribute after tribute after tribute. More children to add to the line, waiting for death in the arena. District 11 catches my attention with a huge, dark skinned boy and a tiny 12 year old. I turn to watch Katniss' face fall. She must be thinking about Prim back home. I want someone to volunteer for this little girl too, but no one does.

And then I watch as Prim is called and Katniss desperately pushes her away from the stage, and mounts the steps herself. They show the salute, and I wonder if they don't realize there was dissent or if they're trying to downplay it, but they say something about District 12's charming but backward customs and then cut to Haymitch falling off of the stage.

I have shock written all over my face as I reel from the first blow, only to be hit with another one as my name is called.

Effie is frowning and saying something about her wig. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

It's funny that she still expects anything from him after such a recurring pattern, so I laugh and say, "He was drunk. He's drunk every year."

"Every day." Katniss adds, and I smile at her.

"Yes." Effie snarls, clearly not amused. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Right on cue, Haymitch staggers in. He's obviously been doing more than just napping because his voice slurs heavily when he says, "I miss supper?" He promptly throws up all over the carpet, and manages to fall in it.

With a slight shriek Effie finishes. "So laugh away!"


	5. The Cost of Dying

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all its characters. **

We just stand for a few minutes, watching our only future lifeline to the world in his own vomit on the floor, and then we look at each other. We seem to agree that he's important to our cause, despite his repulsiveness. So we each take one of his arms and half carry-half drag him into his bathtub. I feel sort of bad for this grown man who is so oblivious he doesn't even notice the shower's pouring down on him, so I offer to finish the job alone. Katniss looks exhausted anyways.

"Alright, I can send one of the Capitol people to help you." She answers.

I think about the times I've had to do this same thing for my mother, on days when she got hold of some alcohol and left my father to work while she drank to incoherence.

I don't need help. "No, I don't want them." I tell her, and she nods before closing the door quietly. Washing him off is fine, because I have this system to help me block out unpleasant things that works pretty well. The things I can't diffuse with carefully sculpted words, I drown out with happy thoughts. My cheeks flush when I think about how they're mostly of Katniss, smiling or singing or just sitting in school.

I'm done with Haymitch pretty soon, and he wakes up just as I'm trying to heave him into his bed. He's really heavy for a guy whose body should be wasted by all the alcohol.

"What are you doing?" He groans.

"I'm cleaning up the mess you made." I growl at him, unsuccessfully trying to push him upwards.

He wakes up enough to climb in, and then I want nothing more than to just leave, but he stops me. "Peeta, right?"

"Yeah." I grunt. He really should know my name.

"I can see… The way you look at her." He laughs, his face red.

I free my arm from his grasp and slam the door, not even feeling remorse when the sound makes him cry out in pain.

I find my way back to the room Effie showed me and try to blink back tears as I curl up in silken sheets. Why had I been so angry that Haymitch knew? Because it was private? That didn't make sense. I wasn't embarrassed that I loved Katniss Everdeen, even though it did sting that she barely noticed me in return. But is it… Because I know, no matter how much I hate it, that I'm going to have to tell him about my mission of sorts? That I'm not going to succeed without his help, and without his careful consideration of my emotions? I know that I don't want Haymitch Abernathy to analyze and exploit my feelings for our best chance at survival.

I try and shake the annoying thoughts, and my thoughts of home. But I feel a crushing fear now that the exhilaration of the day and the sense of purpose the declaration of my "mission" brought me have disappeared. But I can't think about our competition, or our useless mentor, or my father at home. I can't think about how much I want to survive the arena, and how much I'm willing to give up to die instead. Because there are much more important things at stake.


	6. The Fight

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters. **

**A/N: Ooooh, **_**more **_**than five chapters in two hours! **

Light the color of a gray sky leaks into my room through the crack in my door, washing over me like a somber wave. I roll over, and then jump when I hear a rhythmic knocking.

"Wake uuuup!" Effie Trinket, loud and bright as usual, shatters any moment of silence I might have enjoyed. "It's going to be a big, big, big daaay!" She's so happy when I finally make it out to the corridor that, if I wasn't on a Capitol train riding to my certain death, it might have scared me. Now, I just feel amused.

I sit down at the table, where the elegant silver dishes have been replaced by a tureen of cooled fruit and a jug of orange juice. I grab a roll and sort of just hold it in my hands, picking small bits off and occasionally dunking them into the orange juice. It doesn't taste very good.

"Oooh, here!" Effie thinks excitedly, and motions for a Capitol woman to give me a warm mug filled with a sweet smelling brown liquid. Chocolate?

"It's hot chocolate." Effie confirms. When I dip the bread in, it tastes like absolute heaven.

"Haymitch…" I begin. I want to talk to him about last night. About Katniss.

"I think I remember you were upset when I told you I knew…" He interrupts me.

"Knew what?" Effie asks. If it's any sort of gossip, Effie should naturally be the first to know.

Haymitch is happy to oblige. "That Peeta is still a virgin. Meaning, he hasn't ever had-"

Effie shrieks and throws her pastry into the air. "Manners!"

I can feel my cheeks heating slightly, but it's okay because it's funny to watch Effie Trinket, of all people, mutter obscenities as she walks away from us.

"Haymitch." I grumble, but he's laughing quite loudly.

Katniss enters, seeming unsure, but Haymitch tells her to sit down. Her food appears immediately and she doesn't know where to start, so I point to her own mug of hot chocolate.

"They call it hot chocolate." I explain. "It's good." Which is an understatement, but I'm looking forward to busying myself with a mixture of ham and potatoes that someone brought forth for me.

I watch with some disgust as Haymitch pours a vile smelling liquid into his cup and drains it with alarming speed. I do not want to revisit the drunk mess that was Haymitch last night.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice." Katniss suggests to him, watching him and his liquor intently.

"Here's some advice. Don't die." He laughs raucously.

I hate him. This whole time I've known I was going to die. But if Katniss dies because Haymitch is more infatuated with liquor than his tributes' success, nothing will stop me from coming back from the grave to murder him, too.

"That's very funny." I growl. Without thinking about it, my hand lashes out and knocks his glass to the floor, where I can hear it shatter. Good. Maybe he won't be incoherent by the end of the day if I can keep on smashing his drinks. "Only, not to us." I add.

Haymitch stares at me for a second, and then I see his fist barreling towards me. Before I can deflect the hit, my jaw erupts with pain, and I'm toppling out of the chair. I watch as Katniss drives her knife into the table, narrowly missing Haymitch's hand.

"Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" Haymitch smirks.

I stand up to scoop some ice onto my throbbing jaw.

"No. Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

I stop, confused. "That's against the rules."

"Only if they catch you. That bruise says you fought, you weren't caught. Even better." Haymitch turns to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

_Of course she can_, I think. Katniss is a hunter. And talented.

She stands up, pauses for a moment, and then sends the knife flying. Even I'm surprised when it hits exactly in the seam between two wall panels.

"Stand over here. Both of you." Haymitch commands. We stand together and Haymitch examines us like animals for slaughter, prodding and staring. He seems satisfied when he steps away. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."  
>I'm thinking that it's directed only at me until I look at Katniss from a Capitol citizen's point of view. Where I think her cheekbones make her look beautiful and intense, a viewer would think they look hollow and sickly. Where her slender body looks athletic to me, a Capitol citizen would call her skinny. Although the Hunger Games aren't a beauty contest, sponsors like their trophies to be attractive. And the conditions in District 12 have never made it easy to be healthily beautiful.<p>

"All right." He finally says. "I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I stay sober enough to help you."

I'm banking on a lot more than just "sober enough" to make Katniss the victor of the 74th Hunger Games, but this is a step in the right direction.

"Fine." I say.

"So, help us." Katniss is eager to begin. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the cornucopia for someone-"

"One thing at a time." Haymitch interrupts. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But-" Katniss begins.

"No buts." Haymitch says firmly. "Don't resist." With that, he takes his bottle and exits the car.

Katniss and I stand in silence until the light outside is almost completely muffled. _We must be in the tunnels_, I think. They run through the giant mountains that act as a natural barricade, keeping the shiny, fragile Capitol safe from the rebels all those years ago and forming a barrier between me and my home. I'm starting to feel a bit claustrophobic when finally we emerge, and the train floods with light. I crowd to the window, Katniss not far behind, to see the ruling city of Panem. The Capitol. Even more grand than we've always been told.

Everything is in bright candy colors: the buildings, the tiny cars, the flamboyantly dressed people. The train slows and the Capitol residents start to get excited as they recognize a tribute train; wondering which district has just arrived. I'm caught up in their excitement, waving and even smiling at the painted faces of those who will watch us die. Because, what do they know, anyways? Their only concerns are a light purse and choosing which tribute they should sponsor.

Katniss steps away from the window and looks at me like I'm partaking in something evil.

But they're all clueless about us. "Who knows?" I shrug. "One of them might be rich." It's better to smile, I think, better to enjoy myself in the candy streets of the Capitol, in the last days before my death.


	7. Illusions of Flickering Fire

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters… I own my take on Peeta. **

"He's sort of… Short." Merissa, one of my flighty prep team members, tries to whisper to her fellows, but she's not very good at it.

I frown. I'm in a large silver room, seated on a cool steel table. Hasius, who has found some way to implant tiny jewels into his skin, pats Merissa comfortingly. Gellid strokes his fiery red hair with some sort of foam, and it obligingly sticks up into a point. These three people are here to make me look presentable before I meet my stylist, Portia.

I'm fascinated by their decorated bodies, especially Merissa's, because she's tattooed with tiny, crawling patterns in all of the colors of the rainbow. It reminds me of the patterns I try to do on the wedding cakes at home. You can tell the tattoos cost a lot by the way Merissa twists her arms to admire them.

"Oh, never mind that Merissa!" Hasius calls. "We'll touch him up, and then let Portia's outfit do the rest!"

They turn to making me strip down and rubbing me with a gritty soap that foams, and then once I'm free of any dust or sweat, they start removing my hair. The sharp tearing is over soon enough, though, because apparently I'm allowed to keep some of my body hair in the arena. They cut my nails and finally dab some kind of powder on my face.

"Good enough!" Gellid cries.

I feel strangely self-conscious as they give me their last looks of appraisal, before all three embrace me.

"Oh, you'll be fine." Hasius smiles at me, his skin glittering.

"Oooh!" Squeals Merissa happily. "This will be so exciting!"

"I can't wait to see you in Portia's costume!" Gellid agrees animatedly.

"Good luck!"

The prep team leaves. I can only imagine what Katniss is going through right now.

Portia arrives shortly. She's a tall woman, middle aged, who's slightly rounded and has deep blue hair that falls in curls onto her dark skin. Her lips are traced with a hint of silver glitter. Otherwise, she's very normal in speech and demeanor.

"Hello, Peeta. I'm Portia, your stylist for the games."

I rise, now clothed in a thin robe, and shake her hand. "Peeta Mellark." I say, but she already knows this.

"I'm sure you've been wondering what kind of outfit you'll be wearing to the opening ceremony." She asks me.

Actually, I hadn't been, but I'm sure that we'll be wearing some sort of miner's gear.

"Cinna is Katniss' stylist. He and I created something that we think will make quite the splash. It's important that people remember you, Peeta."

She leads me over to a closet where a sort of black jumpsuit is hanging. It's simple enough, but the outfit centers on the cape and headdress- both made of strips of red, yellow, and orange fabric that flutter when she takes it out.

"We plan to light these on fire." She says. "Synthetic fire!" She adds quickly, before I can let my mouth drop open. "It won't hurt… Well… It shouldn't hurt. It's something Cinna and I designed."

I'm thinking hard about protesting, because synthetic fire seems like the kind of trick even the Capitol can't pull off. But I remember Haymitch's warning. Maybe they'll change their minds before the ceremony starts. If not, I'll try and save Katniss and myself from the flames.

"Katniss has to have more prepping than you, so you have an hour or so to get dressed." Portia continues, unaware of my plans to vandalize her big design. "You can wait in here. I'll be back to get you when it's time for the ceremony!" She smiles and clasps my hand tightly before taking her leave.

It seems like no time at all until Portia guides me into a corridor where Katniss and her team are waiting. A man with normal brown hair and a hint of gold eyeliner introduces himself as Cinna. I think gloomily to myself that the more normal Capitol citizens look, the crazier they really are. Cinna, who's very quiet as the two prep teams and Portia flutter about us, was the mastermind behind the fire idea. Which, I note with dismay, has definitely not been abandoned. In fact, everyone's already congratulating each other on what they're sure will be an exquisite entrance.

We're ushered into the lower levels of the Remake Center, where a sort of gigantic stable holds tributes being loaded into their respective chariots. Portia and Cinna arrange for the same- they carefully consider our sitting positions and then scurry off to talk with each other.

"What do you think? About the fire?" Katniss whispers when the stylists are out of range.

"I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine." I say through gritted teeth. I'm actually pretty scared, a fear that's even more immediate and pressing than my fear of the arena.

"Deal." Katniss agrees. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

I'm annoyed at him again, because she's right. "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame." She laughs, and then we're both cracking up.

We both sober as the opening music blasts, and the huge doors open to crowded Capitol streets. Chariots for other districts start rolling out, starting with District 1. As District 11 rides out, Cinna approaches with a torch. "Here we go then…" And he lights Katniss on fire.

I'm tensed to smother the flames but Katniss sort of just sighs, evidently not in any pain. Cinna sighs in relief. "It works." He quickly sets the lighted torch to my cape and headdress as well, and I feel a slight tickling on my back and my scalp.

"Remember, heads high." He says, looking at Katniss. "Smiles. They're going to love you!" Cinna jumps away from the chariot. I see his lips moving with an afterthought, but I can't quite make out the words because the music is so loud.

"What's he saying?" Katniss asks me.

I watch his lips again. _Hold hands_. "I think he said for us to hold hands." I answer her, and grab hers a little too eagerly. I look back at Cinna and he nods his approval.

As we roll out into the city, I am awed by the crowds and the towering buildings, shimmering metallically in the oncoming darkness. But my eyes soon tear away to study Katniss' face. The synthetic fire creates a flickering frame around her angular face, flames reflected in her gray eyes. She looks astonishingly beautiful.

The Capitol audience has noticed too. "Katniss, Katniss!" They chant. She gets into the moment and sends them kisses, waves at them and receives their admiration and their flowers with grace.

"Peeta and Katniss!"

The screams link us together, like we're a couple. When Katniss loosens her grip on my hand, I only tighten mine. "No, don't let go of me." I say, because I love how we're linked, even if it's an illusion created by flickering light and it will probably disappear as soon as our capes are extinguished. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." I say, which is also true.

"Okay." She says. We ride through the Capitol streets; holding each other's hands tightly, and dominate every screen in the Capitol with our fiery beauty.

President Snow, a small man with pure white hair, officially welcomes the tributes before the procession circles back around and we are allowed to disappear into the Training Center. We're immediately engulfed by our prep teams, Portia, and Cinna, the former carefully removing our flaming accessories and putting them out with a foam-like spray. Everyone is elated about our success, except for the tributes we outshone (literally) who are giving us nasty looks.

We climb onto the ground and Katniss and I finally release each other's hands, both working to start the blood flowing again.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there." I smile at her.

"It didn't show." Katniss reassures me. "I'm sure no one noticed."

We're so close and emotions are so high that I let out my own. "I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often. They suit you." I tell her, grinning.

Some emotion flicks across her face, and then she's leaning up to kiss me on the cheek.

I'm so happy, I'm afraid I'm going to float away.


	8. The Chiming of Discontent

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters **

**A/N: Thank you all SO SO SO much for all of the positive feedback! I am SO excited that so many people have read it and like it! :D Checking my email today literally made my entire week And, your awesomeness inspired me to write my longest chapter yet! Yeah, I didn't get a whole lot of homework done today, that's for sure! :P I hope you like it!**

Effie Trinket reappears to show us to our rooms in the Training Center- where we will live all the way up to the day of the Games. Each District gets an entire floor to themselves, so we simply press the number 12 in the exhilarating, clear elevator, and shoot upwards, watching the people receding into the distance below us.

Effie talks to us excitedly the whole way there- she's overjoyed that tributes she chaperoned have finally been noteworthy. Apparently, she's been talking up our sponsors for us. As usual, Haymitch's absence makes an appearance in her explanation. I haven't seen him since the train, and I'm starting to worry that he's gone back on his promise. But after the opening ceremonies, he can't just ignore us. I think.

In my quarters, I'm briefly captivated by the gadgets and buttons that do almost anything for you. Food that appears instantly, windows with rapidly changing views, programmed closets, infinite soap and pressure combinations in the shower. Again, I make use of the fanciful shower to wash the powder from my face and cool myself down. When I step out onto a plush mat, dryers immediately suck up every rolling drop.

I check a shiny, silver clock that sits next to the big bed. It's only been 20 minutes. My thoughts repeat in my head, over and over again. Thoughts about the chariot ride. About Katniss, her beautiful effect. And, of course, the kiss. This is the least anxious I have been since Prim's name was called. I'm actually starting to believe that it will all be fine. I have a good chance at bringing Katniss home. And it's possible to still be happy, before I die.

I find myself exiting the room. Not sure what I'm doing, I simply pace in the hallways until Cinna appears.

"Hello, Peeta." He says serenely.

"Hello." I greet him. "Your costumes were beautiful. Thank you."

He waves the compliment away. "A noble District deserves to be represented as such."

I'm confused for a bit. Does this Capitol man really think that District 12 is noble? Better than the other Districts in some way?

"What do you mean?" I ask.

He smiles at me. "You look like you want some fresh air. I can show you a place that's much less stuffy."

He turns to a nearby table, and picks up an ornamental plant. On the bottom of one plastic leaf is a tiny black dot. An imperfection of manufacture, I guess, or else a speck of dirt?

"I'm sorry, _I _couldn't hear you." Cinna says.

I'm about to write him off as completely crazy when I catch something. The way he emphasized I. As in, I couldn't hear you. But they could.

Suddenly I realize what the black dot is. A recording device! They must be everywhere, laced among these Capitol built walls, to monitor tributes or detail the activity within the city. When Cinna said we should get fresh air, he meant to tell me that what he wants to say should only be heard by us.

"Some fresh air would be nice." I reply genially.

He nods and leads me down the hallway, opening a metal door with no resistance from the other side. There's a flight of stairs, and once we climb them, we enter a small dome-shaped room.

"It's windy, but I'm not entirely sure." Cinna tells me apologetically.

We open a door and are emitted onto the roof of the training center. There's a cool wind that plays at my skin and I breathe in deeply. However clandestine his intentions, Cinna was right when he said I wanted some fresh air. It feels so much better than my tight, plush chambers.

"When I watched the reapings, I understood what the people in your District did. It was beautiful. And speaks of strength."

He called it noble. I feel warm pride run through me when I think about how our small district made an impression on this Capitol man. The other Districts must have noticed the silence and the salute too.

"All of you should be very proud of how you handled the embarrassment of Haymitch's fall." Cinna clarifies, just in case.

"Thank you." I reply, meaning it sincerely.

"Of course. And I wanted to show this to you, because you might want to visit in the future. The garden is very beautiful," he directs my gaze to a cluster of potted plants and flower beds, "but it's even louder in there!" He laughs.

This freedom is invaluable, and it touches me that Cinna thought to give it to me. I don't know I'll need to go unmonitored again, but it's a haven I think I'll greatly appreciate in the next few days before the Games. In any case, the view is mesmerizing.

I gaze out at the city. The glossy towers and painted houses twinkle like stars now, in the deepening night. Lights illuminate the streets where the crowds from the opening ceremony still haven't disbanded.

"They'll be celebrating all night." Cinna tells me, following my gaze. "The crowds will only get bigger. This is the best event of the year."

I nod. I can't imagine, as they want for nothing, that the Capitol citizens have much to do. The Hunger Games is the most anticipated entertainment of the year to them.

"Why do they let tributes up here?" I ask. "Aren't they afraid someone will try to jump off the edge?"

Cinna shakes his head. He walks forward until he's at the railing on the edge of the roof, and then extends his hand. The sharp buzz startles me. Cinna's hand has jolted backwards. "It's a force field." He explains to me.

I want to stay longer, but Cinna checks a sleek watch and tells me we had better go down for supper.

When we enter I find Portia already here, standing on a balcony that's encased in glass. I'm relieved to see Haymitch, shaven and sober, talking briefly with our escort. Hmmm… Relieved. I smile to myself. I might rethink that.

"Peeta, you can see the whole Capitol from here." Portia calls me over to a balcony that overlooks the city. The same lights I saw from the roof twinkle back at me. "If only my apartment had a balcony…" Portia comments.

Katniss joins us and we begin our meal- the food is amazingly rich again. Roast beef and noodles in a green sauce Portia calls pesto, blue colored grapes served with soft, melting cheese. The servers never talk, and I suddenly realize that they're Avoxes. I know what they are because my mother once said she wished I was one. My father had to explain after that. I drag my fork through the food, a little less hungry as I think about my mother.

One of them, a girl with dark red hair, presents us with a magnificent cake. To my surprise, she lights the top of the cake, and the edges flicker with heat for a bit before dying out. It's a pretty trick, but Katniss seems doubtful.

"What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" She asks, perhaps thinking about Haymitch. "Because that's the last thing I wa-" Recognition, pain, and guilt flash across her gray eyes. "Oh!" She says, staring at the Avox girl. "I know you!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss!" Effie yaps. "How could you possibly know an Avox? The very thought."

"What's an Avox?" She asks.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue out so she can't speak. She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her." Haymitch pipes in, and I hear a warning in his voice.

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order. Of course, you don't know her." Effie repeats stubbornly.

"No, I guess not, I just…" Katniss fumbles.

I know somehow that Katniss has unwittingly broken an important rule, so I say the first name that pops into my mind. "Delly Cartwright!" I say, snapping my fingers. "That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly." I explain. Of course, this girl looks nothing like Delly, but the adults look satisfied.

"Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair." Katniss grasps at the name gratefully.

"Something about the eyes, too." I add.

The adults are thoroughly diffused now.

"Oh, well, if that's all it is." Cinna smiles. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially for your fiery debut."

The cake is delicate and delicious, but I can't focus on it right now. I don't understand Katniss' outburst. Whatever it was, it's clear that she's deeply troubled by it.

We migrate to a padded lounge where we watch the opening ceremonies as they replay for the rest of Panem. Everyone is overjoyed all over again.

"Who's idea was the hand holding?" Haymitch asks.

"Cinna's." Portia replies.

Haymitch nods in appreciation. "Just the perfect touch of rebellion. Very nice."

It's definitely different, appearing as friends when Panem expects us to be enemies. If only it were true, and not an act of defiance.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it. Now go and get some sleep while the grown-ups talk." Haymitch waves us away.

I walk with Katniss to her room. But I want to talk to her about the Avox girl, because I'm as curious as I am worried about her. I catch her attention by leaning against her doorframe before she enters her room. "So. Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." It's a question carefully worded to give her the chance to deny it. From the look on her face at dinner, I'm expecting that she doesn't want to talk about it.

We stand silently, Katniss thinking intently from the focus of her eyes. I realize that her hesitation might be because of the recording devices as well. A story about an Avox, when it's a crime to even speak to them, would certainly be dangerous and criminal. I don't want my prying to get her in trouble.

"Have you been on the roof yet?" I ask her. Katniss shakes her head. "Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud though." I hope she realizes my hint.

"Can we just go up?"

"Sure, come on." I guide her to the stairs and we emerge onto the roof.

"I asked Cinna why they let us up here." I tell her as she watches the city below us. "Weren't they afraid that some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?"

"What'd he say?"

"You can't." I demonstrate the force field just as Cinna demonstrated it to me.

"Always worried about our safety." Katniss says sarcastically. "Do you think they're watching us now?"

"Maybe." I admit. Cinna didn't actually know himself. But he did give me another resource. "Come see the garden." Hundreds of little wind chimes sway and tinkle in the wind, and it creates quite an added din. This is the best I can give her, so I wait to see if Katniss will decide to tell me.

"We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game." She whispers, examining a flower.

"You and your father?" I whisper back. I know who it must be, who she hunts with most, but somehow I don't want Gale Hawthorne to follow us into the Capitol. Don't want his name to be on the roof tonight.

"No, my friend Gale. Suddenly all of the birds stopped singing at once. Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it.

The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere. I mean, one moment the sky was empty and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up, fast, so fast like the elevator. They shot some sort of spear through the boy. It was attached to a cable and they hauled him up as well. But I'm certain he was dead. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think. Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened."

I understand why she was so scared at dinner. I want to comfort her, but I ask a question instead. "Did they see you?"

"I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock."

Katniss is shaking, either from remembering or the biting wind. "You're shivering." I say. I unbutton my jacket and carefully drape it around her delicate shoulders. She's still as I button it, sealing in her body warmth. "They were from here?"

Katniss nods, her hair blowing around her face. She pulls my jacket tighter around her.

"Where do you suppose they were going?" It wouldn't make sense to seek refuge in District 12. There's almost nothing there. And beyond our district is wilderness. That's it.

"I don't know. Or why they would leave here."

It seems odd, I guess. Because the Capitol is so beautiful. But then I think of the mute slaves, who must come from more than just the Districts, and the cameras that constantly watch you. The cold steel and the confining skyscrapers. The President, the inventor of the Hunger Games, so near. The bloodthirsty citizens. The careful control and never-ending propaganda from the "benign" rulers of Panem.

"I'd leave here." I say. But it was too loud over the chimes, and I quickly grasp at a cover. "I'd go home now, if they'd let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime." I laugh shakily. I look around nervously one more time but notice Katniss has started shivering again. "It's getting chilly," I say gently. "We better go in."

We're greeted with a flood of light and warmth inside of the domed room. Since Gale Hawthorne's managed to enter our conversation once already I decide to bring him up again. "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping." _I would have been there with you. I tried to get up there_, I want to say. I watch her face carefully.

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"Not really. I hear the girls talk about him a lot,"- is it jealousy that flashes across her face? "I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other."

"No, we're not related."

I try not to let emotion onto my face, because I would probably wear a mask of jealousy for this friend who Katniss "favors". "Did he come to say goodbye to you?"

"Yes." She responds. She's watching me too. The conversation feels like an interrogation. "So did your father. He brought me cookies."

I didn't know this. But it means a lot to me, because I take it as a sign that he approves of Katniss. That he's determined she's worth his son's death. It somehow means more than his quiet acceptance in the Justice Building. "Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a house full of boys." I tell her instead. "He knew your mother when they were kids." Actually, he loved her, but that topic seems a bit too close to my own feelings, so I don't explain further.

"Oh, yes. She grew up in town." Katniss responds. She takes off my jacket and hands it back to me.

I open the door for her and she treads down the stairs, with me following close behind.

"See you in the morning, then." She says, emerging into the hallway again.

"See you." I say, and go to find my own room.

I curl up in the bed, thinking about our conversation. It seems so contrived, to keep my feelings from her. But somehow it doesn't seem right to tell her yet. At least, not before I talk to Haymitch.

I close my eyes and think about Katniss' story. The boy and the girl, running from the Capitol. A place that's supposed to be a safe haven, unquestionably good. Somehow I end up pondering my father's words to me as he said goodbye.

_It's about the Capitol, because they want to warp you into something evil. Just… Die as yourself, Peeta. Not as a tribute. Die as a baker's son, a 16 year old boy._

I think of what a child means to my District. I've seen Gale Hawthorne's sister, a little girl named Posy, in the schoolhouse. How her eyes are bright even as her brother brings home just enough food to keep them going. How she doesn't quite understand she will never be a ballerina, like she says to her friends. Little posy can escape the hunger or the lines of her mother's face to draw in the dirt of the schoolyard, or sing old nursery songs. And in her eyes is the only hope that the Capitol has not managed to take away.

Beyond enflaming protective instinct, the Capitol's abductions steal the Districts' most primal source of hope. The Games remind us that the Capitol corrupts absolutely. Nothing- no happiness, no innocence, will go unbowed.

But that's not enough for them, I think, my mind racing frantically, unraveling my father's last message. If a child full of hope is killed, they will serve as a martyr to the District's suffering- a mark of the Capitol's cruelty that will eventually be too much for the Districts to bear. To retain their grip, the Capitol can't just kill children. They have to warp, twist, sully beyond recognition or repair. If that atrocity can be committed, the Capitol can be all-powerful.

_They want to warp you into something evil. _A murderer. No longer a 16 year old boy, young, and good. A monster, owned and engineered by Panem's rulers, to be turned against my home and used as a blow against them.

It's a sick realization, and it fills me with a sort of rage I didn't know I could feel.

I won't do it. I won't be another pawn in their Games.

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Checking my email for reviews will be my new favorite thing in the world! **


	9. The Effect She Can Have

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters **

**A/N: Hello everyone, I am SO sorry I haven't updated in so long! *tear* These past weeks have been CRAZY. First, someone STOLE my copy of the Hunger Games! Yeah! And then when I got it back (from a kid at my school) I was swamped with HW. Anyways, I just wanted to make sure you knew I'm still here. I absolutely love writing this story and sharing it with you, so I am DEFNINTELY still going. Just had a minor setback So, to make up for my slow updating rate, I'm planning to write a bunch of chapters this weekend. So keep your eyes peeled! Thank you so much everyone! Enjoy!**

Morning light shines behind my closed eyes, searing my vision. My head is pounding angrily.

__I pull myself into the shower, carefully punching in a soft spray and lilac bubbles. I redden, feeling silly and childish in this stainless, cool Capitol where everyone is so lofty. But lilac has always reminded me of my mother's little glass perfume bottle, the one she used on my parents' wedding day. I feel tears forming, and I rub my streaming face angrily, bubbles catching in the corners of my eyes and making them sting. I hop out of the shower, giving up on any semblance of relaxation. It seems I'm just going to have to live with high-strung emotions.

The feeling I had during the opening ceremonies is completely gone now. I feel bitter, and homesick, and afraid, and sad, and angry, so angry that I'm here, that they've forced me to be here, that I have no choice but to go through with this. To protect Katniss. I wish for one stupid, vulnerable moment that it was Gale who had been called at the reaping. I wish he could be the one to protect Katniss, not me.

But i'ts too late for that. I'm here. So I have to do the best I can. And hope that I don't fail my father, or Katniss.

Someone has laid out black pants, a burgundy tunic, and comfortable looking shoes. I put them on dutifully and venture out into the hallway.

I find my way to the high ceilinged dining room, Haymitch entering behind me. Katniss is already at the table, turning a roll around in her hands, looking preoccupied and pretty nervous. With all of my self-righteous moaning I haven't even thought about what today is. Our first training day. When we get to meet our competition. This doesn't help my mood much.

I pick at some sliced fruit and a cinnamon bread until Haymitch has finished his generous portion of stew. He takes out a bottle, and after taking a long swig, leans forward to address us. "So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

"Why would you coach us separately?" Katniss asks.

"Say if you had some secret skill you might not want the other to know about." Haymitch answers, tapping his fingers on the fine wood of the table.

I shrug, looking at Katniss. "I don't have any secret skills. And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels."

It almost makes me smile, the memory of my dad and Katniss' squirrels. He's crazy for them, and she's the best hunter pretty much anyone knows. It's funny, because I've always admired Katniss' skill with her bow and arrow and her bravery to go out into the woods. It added a bit of mystery and adventure to her when I was younger. When I grew up it made me admire her for a different reason- for her never-ending hope and perseverance. Her self-sufficiency. If I could hunt, I wouldn't have to live around my mother. But I never really noticed how, besides Gale, she's the _only_ person who hunts in our District. It has never really hit me how valuable a skill it is. Even more valuable now, when she'll have to use it on people.

Katniss has been thinking, but the answer's natural to her. "You can coach us together." She says. I nod in agreement.

"Alright, so give me some idea of what you can do." Haymitch prompts.

"I can't do anything." My self-sufficiency is limited at baking. Which isn't much help in a death-trap arena, I'm guessing. "Unless you count baking bread." I tell him.

"Sorry, I don't." Haymitch smirks. I allow myself a small smile. For once, I agree with our mentor. "Katniss, I already know you're handy with a knife."

"Not really." She's underrating herself- based on the throw she made on the train. "But I can hunt. With a bow and arrow."

"And you're good?" Haymitch pries.

"I'm all right."

I'm surprised. She's been doing it for years. "She's excellent." I correct her. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells to the butcher. She can even bring down deer."

"What are you doing?" Katniss, asks, slightly suspicious looking.

"What are you doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."

"What about you?" She snaps at me, suddenly angry. "I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour. Tell him that. That's not nothing."

"Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't." I'm trying not to get upset in front of them, but my stupid emotions seem to want to resurface.

"He can wrestle." Katniss shoots in. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."

I remember that competition. I also remember the way Thom bullied me about his win after. But I'm surprised that she does.

"What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" I say bitterly.

"There's always hand to hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" Katniss almost shouts.

"But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what my mother said to me when she came to say goodbye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District 12 will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!" I burst out.

"Oh, she meant you." Katniss waves it away with contempt.

"She said, 'She's a survivor, that one. _She_ is."

I realize, painfully, that I haven't just admired Katniss for her skill. I've also always been jealous. Jealous of how she has a family that loves her, her little sister, and a life no matter what happens to anyone else. When I live with brothers and a mother who spite me every day, who tell me I'm not good enough and who only keep me around for the bakery's success. And they're right, my mother's right, because I'm useless outside of that frail and dubious shell. I have nothing outside of that bakery. I don't even have the girl I love.

Katniss looks up at me, and I want to hide from the pity and the emotion in her eyes. Because I've never, _never_, wanted to see pity from her. "But only because someone helped me." She says quietly, as if calling the memory of that night back to my mind will reassure me. So she does remember.

I shrug brusquely. "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to help you."

It's true, the Capitol will love her, the strongest girl I've ever met, who's made so much of her life. Who can do so much more than I can. Who can make me fall in love with her just by singing. Who, I know, can win the Hunger Games.

"No more than you." Katniss says, still convinced I'm something equal to her.

I roll my eyes at Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she can have." I run my fingernail along the wood grain, staring at the natural pattern with unparalleled focus, not sure what Katniss is thinking and not sure if I want to know.

"Well, then." Haymitch interrupts our unsteady silence. "Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee there'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"

"I know a few basic snares." She mutters.

"That may be significant in terms of food. And, Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?"

I nod.

"One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute."

Katniss obviously doesn't want this. "But-" I try to say, but Haymitch slams his fist on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

Katniss shoves up from the table and stalks off to her room. I can hear her door slam even from the table.

Haymitch just chuckles. "Looks like you've got a lot on your hands, flour boy. How's your love story looking now?"

I snarl at him in my most menacing voice. "It's not just me who has to deal with her." The words slip off of my tongue, cruel and cold, fueled by anger and fear and a need to deflate some of Haymitch's irksome confidence. I sigh, feeling emptied and guilty. "Plus, you have to put up with me, too."

And then I leave, without waiting for his answer. Because I already know what it is. It's that I'm worse. I'm worse all around.

**A/N: Please review! **


	10. To Pieces

**Suzanne Collins owns the Huger Games and all of its characters! **

"You must follow this training schedule. Experts of each skill will remain at their training stations. You will be free to travel from area to area as you choose, but per your mentor's instructions. Some of the stations teach survival skills, other fighting techniques. You are forbidden to engage in any combative exercise with another tribute. There are assistants on hand if you want to practice with a partner." Atala, our head trainer, gestures around the huge gymnasium as she speaks in a monotone that somehow seems very deadly.

As the tall woman continues by reading off each station's purpose it's hard not to feel the tense presence of the other tributes. I glance at the boy standing next to me, dark curly hair and a number 10 pinned to his back. Just one of the 22 other tributes that are ringed around Atala, sizing up their opponents and, some of them, dreading the coming day. Like me.

Atala finishes and the Careers, who I've tried to avoid looking at, rush to the deadly weapons. I grimace. Almost all of them are slightly bigger than me, and every one is at least 50 pounds heavier than Katniss. I nudge Katniss' arm. "Where would you like to start?"

She jumps slightly, obviously I've interrupted deep thought. "Suppose we tie some knots." She suggests, her voice reflecting a bit of annoyance. _Because she doesn't want to be doing this with _me, I think to myself.

"Right you are." I agree, and follow her to the knot tying station, where the expert is eager to teach us a trap to make someone dangle from a tree when they make one false step. After we've mastered this, we move on to the camouflage station.

The instructor here, Murellus, is a small man who seems intelligent in a quiet sort of way. He guides my finger to a puddle of green berry juice and makes it into a sort of brush- painting my left arm with leaves and light and a picture of a forest I've never seen except from on the other side of a fence.

"Do you see the light? Try and finish it." He says, and releases my green-stained finger.

I pick up mud, and clay, and more juices and expand the picture into a sunny day underneath shady trees, dappled light resting on my forearm, spring's first bud on my elbow. I swirl the colors and the scene comes clearly to my head. I'm in this forest, not in the dirty, hard packed, smoky streets behind the bakery. Not in the charcoal covered shop windows that line the square. Not in the somber, hot lunch room of our school. I'm sitting on this grass, under this tree, feeling breeze and light and a genuine happiness. And lying beside me, her head resting on my arm, is a girl with long brown hair and soft gray eyes.

I blink. Katniss is looking at me. I hear Murellus behind me, praising the finished product- my skin feels light and unchanged and yet, if I was really in that forest, my arm would be invisible.

"I do the cakes." I explain to her. I've always loved painting- creating intricate designs with the thick, rough frosting at home. But this is different. Painting here feels… Natural. And amazingly fun.

"Cakes?" She asks. "What cakes?"

"At home. The iced ones, for the bakery."

Katniss studies my arm critically for a bit. "It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death." She says dryly.

"Don't be so superior." I say. But I'm still feeling light. "Besides, you can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake-"

But Katniss cuts me off. "Say we move on."

We leave Murellus for a weapons station, but I stay quiet after that.

I turn my attention to the other tributes as Katniss sweeps the edible plants test. The group of Careers are still handling swords and maces with ease. Most of the rest of the tributes are underfed and lost- wandering around the gym, trying- and failing- to use weapons or build fires. A hard knot forms in my stomach when I think that these will probably be the kids to die right off. It's horrible, thinking that people I'm looking at right now will be dead in a few days.

My eyes land on the Gamemakers. They're twenty or so men and women who sit on elevated stands around the gymnasium- talking to each other and eating and watching the tributes from afar, or, sometimes, walking among us and writing down notes.

We go through a few more stations- shelter building and knife throwing- before lunch. All of the tributes gather in a dining room near the gym. The Careers group together, like they always do, ignoring the others who either sit alone or in small, scared clumps.

I take a plate and serve myself from one of the carts set up around the room, and then join Katniss at a table.

"So." I begin. "Haymitch wants us to be friendly. I guess we better talk about something." I watch her face carefully. She seems stoic.

"Fine." She says.

It seems like neither of us can think of something to talk about, so I fix my eyes on a basket of rolls on the nearest food cart. I remember the different types I fingered on the train, and their origins come back to me from a day in the bakery. My father had been telling me stories about the other districts, and each of them featured a special kind of bread. I stand up, bringing the basket back to our table.

I empty the rolls onto the table. "Look at this. They've been careful to include bread from all of the different districts, along with theirs. This one," I say, pointing to the green tinted fish-shaped loaf, "Is from District 4. And this one," I pick up a crescent roll dotted with seeds, "Is from District 11. These are supposed to be District 12." I say. She looks doubtfully at the pretty drop biscuits. "And there you have it." I say, and scoop the bread back into the basket.

"You certainly know a lot." Katniss remarks.

"Only about bread. Okay, now laugh as if I've said something funny." We both laugh, and I can feel other people staring at us. Katniss' eyes crinkle up when she laughs, and she gets a sort of light in her eyes. Well, not now, because she's obviously not happy sitting here talking with me, but sometimes at home I've watched her with Prim. Prim may be the only person in the world who makes her happy. Well, and Gale. I quickly try to leave that train of thought.

"All right, I'll keep smiling pleasantly and you talk." I suggest.

She thinks for a moment. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?"

"No, but it sounds fascinating." I encourage her.

Her story is honestly funny- apparently Katniss once challenged a bear for its beehive. Despite her coldness and everything that happened at breakfast, I can't help but be absorbed by her recounting. Just being around her, whatever her feelings towards me, makes me at least a little bit happy.

After lunch is over we go back to the gym, and business proceeds as usual. The Careers show off. I venture to the hand-to-hand combat station, and the instructor teaches me a few stances and different types of punches. It's actually fun, and I'm not that surprised when I do well. After all, I've grown up with two older brothers and a mother who liked to hit me. My past was good for something, after all.

By the end of the day, we're both exhausted. We go to the dining room on our floor for dinner with Haymitch and Effie. But this doesn't provide any type of respite. Both adults grill us about what happened- who did we talk to, what did we do, were the Gamemakers watching us, what were the other tributes' strengths and weaknesses. I try to be patient until I can escape to my room.

When I'm released I go immediately to my bed. I collapse, exhausted and hurt. It's never been like this before. Back at home, I watched Katniss as she went through her daily life- school, and selling her game, and talking with Gale. She never really noticed me, and I never had the courage to say anything to her. But now it's as if she hates me. And her annoyance and my fear have mixed to make me angry at everyone- even Katniss. _It doesn't matter if she hates you_, I try to tell myself. _You didn't think she was going to fall in love as soon as you got here, did you? Whether she likes you or not, you're still going to save her. You're still going to die in the end. _

My sleep is restless and my mind is furtive. It seems as if I'm falling apart.


	11. Heat

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters. **

On the second day of training, while we're at the spear throwing station, I notice the little girl from District 11 watching us. The night of the opening ceremonies her mentor called her Rue. She's even smaller in person than when I saw her getting reaped.

I lean over to Katniss, who's admiring her throw. "I think we have a shadow." I whisper. She turns and sees the little girl. She has lively brown eyes and silky brown skin. She stands at a safe distance from us, leaning forward on her toes.

I throw my own spear. "I think her name's Rue." I tell Katniss softly.

I know she's thinking about prim when she says, "What can we do about it?" in a voice rough with emotion and a bit of accusation.

"Nothing to do." I say. "Just making conversation."

Rue follows us to the fire making station, popping up to work behind us now and again. Training passes like the day before.

At dinner, our mentors are even more relentless. Katniss is impatient and sharp with them. Finally, after two hours, I excuse myself as forcefully as I can without making Effie cry. Katniss takes the opportunity to follow me out.

"Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink." I mumble to her as we walk down the hallway.

She laughs, but then something comes over her. "Don't." She stops me short in the brightly lit corridor. "Don't let's pretend when there's no one around."

I don't want to fight with her. All I can feel is numbness and exhaustion. "All right, Katniss." I say tiredly. After that, I don't force her to speak with me when we're the only ones in the room. And she certainly doesn't take the prerogative herself.

On the third and final day of training, the Gamemakers begin to call us out of lunch for our private sessions. Like we discussed with Haymitch, we've saved our skills for these demonstrations. I just hope my skills are good enough to get a decent score. They start with the District 1 boy, and as time ticks on, the dining room slowly empties.

"Peeta Mellark," someone says uninterestedly over the speakers, about twenty minutes after Rue was called.

"Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights."

"Thanks. I will. You… Shoot straight." She nods, and I walk into the gym.

The Gamemakers are still on their platforms, eating from an endless buffet. I can tell even from the gym floor that most of them are either drunk or extremely bored. I think about how our tributes have to go last every year. It doesn't help added to all of the other factors that usually make District 12 lose. I walk to a wide, heavy rack of various sized weights. I pick up a medium-sized one, and with a slight grunt of exertion, lift it up. I pump it up and down for a minute or so until I think I've warmed up. I pick up the biggest weight- almost lose hold of it, and then manage to heft it up. I throw it as hard as I can, but it doesn't even go one foot- instead, it falls dangerously close to my toes.

I glance up at the Gamemakers. The few that had been watching me have now turned to singing a drinking song of some sort.

This is ridiculous. I'm about to be thrown into a death trap, and they can't even focus on me. Gritting my teeth, I pick up a slightly smaller weight and throw it. This time it goes a few yards. A _bit_ better. I can feel my strength starting to come back to me as I pick up various objects, and throw them. But it's still not enough to captivate the Gamemakers' attention. I start to despair after 10 minutes of hefting and throwing. A good score would have meant more sponsors for me and Katniss to share. I plan to tell Haymitch he can delegate my gifts to Katniss if she needs them more.

One of the sober Gamemakers motions me towards the door. "You can go now." He says simply.

Great.

I punch in the number 12 when I get to the elevator, and zoom up. When I enter the main living room, I'm confronted by Haymitch.

"How did it go?" He asks me.

I sigh. "I don't want to talk about it."

He rolls his eyes at me. "Great job, kid."

I shrug and go to my bedroom. I shower and take a quick nap before Effie comes to my room to wake me for dinner.

I join Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia at the dining room table. I'm happy to see the stylists, but they won't be similarly happy with me when they see my training score. Effie enters a few minutes later with Katniss, whose face is red and splotchy from crying.

As she sits, I raise my eyebrows at her in a question. _What happened? _ Katniss just shakes her head.

As Avoxes serve the main course, Haymitch pipes in. "Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?" He asks both of us.

"I don't know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go."

"And you, sweetheart?" Haymitch looks at Katniss.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." She says.

It's an instant calamity. Everyone stops eating. "You what?" Effie shrieks, horrified.

"I shot an arrow at them. Not exactly at them. In their direction. It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just… I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!" She says defiantly.

Cinna looks at her like she's a bomb about to blow up. "And what did they say?" He asks carefully.

"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that." Katniss says.

"Without being dismissed?" Effie gasps.

"I dismissed myself." She says with hopelessness.

"Well, that's that." Haymitch says, buttering a role.

"Do you think they'll arrest me?" Katniss asks.

"Doubt it. Be a pain to replace you at this stage." Haymitch replies.

"What about my family? Will they punish them?" Katniss seems terrified.

"Don't think so. Wouldn't make much sense. See, they'd have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would need to know what you did. But they can't since it's secret, so it'd be a waste of effort. More likely they'll make your life hell in the arena." Haymitch reasons out.

"Well, they've already promised to do that to us anyway." I say.

"Very true." Haymitch agrees. He preoccupies himself with a pork chop. "What were their faces like?" He asks, chuckling.

"Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them. One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch." Katniss smiles, cheering up now that she's been relieved of her fear.

Everyone starts laughing at that, except for Effie, who's still trying to hide a smile. "Well, it serves them right." She says. "It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District 12 is no excuse to ignore you." Then her eyes dart around as if she's going to be arrested for treason. "I'm sorry, but that's what I think." She says to the air.

"I'll get a very bad score." Katniss says.

"Scores only matter if they're very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy," Portia offers.

"I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get. If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards? One almost landed on my foot."

Katniss grins at me and then digs in. The rest of us pick up our food again, the tension alleviated.

After everyone finishes, we go to the sitting room to watch the scores announced on the television. First the tributes' pictures show up, and then their score flashes below it. The Careers get from eight to ten. Most of the others average at five. Finally, my picture shows on the screen. I brace myself for the worst. And then the number eight is flashing at me. Eight!

I don't want to celebrate yet because Katniss is still digging her nails into her palms in anticipation. The room draws a collective breath as her picture is displayed. And this time, it's the number eleven that's shown.

Effie squeals in excitement, and I let out a loud whoop. Everyone is congratulating her, and me.

"There must be a mistake. How… how could that happen?" Katniss asks Haymitch in disbelief.

"Guess they liked your temper." He answers. "They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat."

"Katniss, the girl who was on fire." Cinna says proudly, remembering the name he's made for her and probably accrediting her continued success to it. He embraces her. "Oh, wait until you see your interview dress."

"More flames?" Katniss asks.

"Of a sort" Cinna responds mischievously.

"Congratulations." I say, touching Katniss on the arm.

"You too."

After a bit more happy chit-chat, Katniss escapes to her room.

"Haymitch…" I say.

"Yeah? You did well after all, kid." He says cheerfully.

"I need to talk to you." I say.

Haymitch raises his eyebrows, and then looks around at the remaining adults. "You want to talk in your room?" He asks. I nod. "Goodnight! The little tribute needs his sleep." Haymitch calls to the others, and then rushes me out of the room.

When we enter my bedroom, I take a minute to size him up. Despite his drinking problems, I know I can trust him to make decisions that will be best for Katniss. The problem is, I don't think he'll have any consideration for my feelings.

"I…" I clear my throat, trying to get the courage to say this. "I came here for only one reason." I say. "To protect Katniss."

Haymitch guffaws. "I thought you came here 'cause you were dragged to a train by Peacekeepers."

I redden, and then glare at him. "Listen to me." I say, and the look in my eyes gets him to stop laughing, at least. "I don't plan to live through the arena. I want Katniss to win. And I'm asking you to help me. Please."

He looks at me, sizing me up just as I did him. "So how does a sixteen year old boy come to love a girl so much, he'll die for her?"

This takes me off guard. Why do I love her so much? Why am I doing this? I have to think for a long time. I've never really defined my love of her. "Because… Because she's so much more than me. And… She can still be so much. I can't let her die. And I can't live without her."

It's not a very clear answer, but it satisfies Haymitch. What is love, anyways, how can you really define it? To me, Katniss' beauty goes so much further than just her eyes or her lips or her hair. Katniss' beauty is a force of life that can't be breached by anything. Her beauty is the light she brings with her, wherever she goes. And when I look at her, Katniss is absolutely radiant.

Every day I can remember, I've watched the prettiest Seam girl walk home from school. I've seen her grow up, and with her height grew her ferocity and her passion. In so many ways, Katniss Everdeen is the opposite of who I am. But I've never been able to stop longing for how it would feel if we were opposites together.

I can't define or explain it. But I will never forget how it feels.

I feel the presence of love whenever I'm near her.

She's the girl on fire. And her heat is contagious.


	12. Starved

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters. **

Haymitch coughs loudly. "So, what do you want me to do?" He asks.

"Well, if I get any sponsors, give their gifts to Katniss if she needs them instead." I think for a moment. "Umm, is that even possible?"

Haymitch sneers. "Not really. Any other big plans?"

"Should I tell her?"

"Well, you don't really want to die without her knowing, do you? But on the other hand, she'll probably try and kill you herself if you tell her that." Haymitch laughs to himself.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she probably won't even believe you. She's a very suspicious person."

"Katniss isn't a suspicious person. But... She is suspicious of me, I guess."

"You guessed right, kid. She'll think you're playing her. It'll take a lot of convincing, anyways. Or, if she does believe you, she'll get all confused about her feelings and let her guard down. Who's that boy… The one in the reaping tape? He's pretty good looking. Helpful, too."

I tense. "That's Gale Hawthorne." I grumble.

"Okay, great. So if you tell her she'll take a minute to sit down in the middle of the arena and ask herself- do I love Gale, or do I love Peeta?"

"She… She doesn't love Ga-"

"Sure," Haymitch waves my protest away. "Sure, kid. Anyways, you don't want your true love reflecting on her relationship status in the middle of a bloodbath."

"So, what do I do?" I growl at Haymitch. Just as I suspected he would, he's treating this like a game.

Haymitch shrugs. "Stay alive. And if you catch up with her, deal with your suicide later. But there's really no way to keep track of her the whole Games. She's not going to want to ally with you."

"Are you sure? There's no way she'll want to work together?"

"She won't do it for you. But if she thinks it'll increase her chance at survival, sure. Problem is, she doesn't trust you."

"Would she listen to you, if you told her it'd be better to be allies?"

"Sorry, but if you haven't noticed, we're not the best of pals either." Haymitch grimaces, and takes a swig out of a bottle. I've no idea where he got it. Does he keep liquor in his clothing?

"Okay then, think of something else. Think of some reason that's so irrefutable she can't ignore it. What are the types of alliances the sponsors like the best?"

"Careers." Haymitch answers automatically.

"If both of us got into their alliance, I could watch her-"

"Won't work. They'll want to kill your girlfriend, not welcome her in."

"But she got an eleven."

"She's a threat to them. She's not part of the pack, so they've already deemed her an enemy. She's called too much attention to herself."

"But maybe you could talk to their mentors, work something out, just so that we can-"

Haymitch grunts. "You really think she'll go with them, either way? New idea, kid. You're grasping at straws."

I pound my fist against the bed, furious. "There aren't any new ideas, Haymitch! This has to work! I won't give up without a fight! I won't give up on her!" I scream at him.

Haymitch takes a frighteningly long swig from his bottle. "Look, kid. I've seen scores and scores of town kids die. Scores and scores of mining kids die. What makes you think I can save her? You've put too much faith in me. I couldn't save them. And I probably can't save you this time, either. What the hell," He takes another swig. "Why the hell do I even try anymore? They always die anyways." I'm taken aback when I see tears running down his leathery face.

I've never really thought about it, what it would be like to be a mentor. Getting to know these kids, just to see them die. It must be hell.

"I'm sorry." I say, but he's emptied the bottle and is starting on another one he's ordered through the Capitol's gadgets. I know he's not going to help me any further.

"Please," I say anyways. My voice sounds truly desperate. "Please. Is there anything else. Anything?

Haymitch laughs too loudly. He's getting seriously drunk. "The only thing the Capitol likes better than Careers is sex." He guffaws. "That's their version of love. You wanna know why they're all so bloodthirsty? 'Cause love is dead here. Just look at Finnick Odair. If he'd been romantic in the arena, it'd be the most watched Games in history. They're _starving_ for that stuff."

I feel sick to my stomach. "Finnick Odair… He's the victor from District 4, right?"

"Yeah." Haymitch slurs.

My memory comes back to me- Finnick Odair won almost 10 years ago, thanks to his looks, I think. I remember with a smile that my English teacher wouldn't stop going on about him for almost two years after those Games. But I don't really see how that could help me. I'm not very attractive, not compared to some of the other boys at school and definitely not compared to Finnick.

_You wanna know why they're all so bloodthirsty? 'Cause love is dead here. They're starving for that stuff. _

Maybe… Maybe if the Capitol citizens know that I'm in love with Katniss, maybe that would keep them entertained. And if Katniss pretended to be in love with me, they would have a couple to follow. And Katniss and I would be allies. We'd get lovesick women to be our sponsors. Katniss would have a chance.

"Haymitch…" I start. Am I really going to propose this? I feel repulsed. Do I really want to display my feelings for Katniss just to play on the emotions of the Capitol? Do I really want to ask her to act, when I know she doesn't really love me back? Will she even agree? So many things could go wrong, and I don't even want to do this. But is there any other option? "Haymitch… What if Katniss and I pretended we're in love, while we're in the arena? If… If we do that, we'd have an alliance, and the sponsors would love it, right?"

Haymitch simply stares at me. After a while, he says, "You're awfully heartless for a boy in love." His voice is slurred, but I know he means this soberly. And he's right. It's a horrible thing.

I grit my teeth. "Would it work?" I ask him, hoping beyond all things that his answer is no.

He laughs at me. "Kid, it'd blow them away."


	13. The StarCrossed Lovers From District 12

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters.**

Desperation is a funny feeling. It will make you do things you never thought you could do. It will make you do things you never even wanted to do. It's kind of like love in that way- everything turns irrational and wild- and even immoral.

And when desperation and love are combined, it can make you monstrous.

That's how I feel. Monstrous. But Haymitch is full of confidence in the star-crossed lovers of District 12. It's the only way Katniss Everdeen will live beyond the age of sixteen.

So, monstrous it is. If that's what it takes.

"What if she doesn't agree? What if she hates it as much as I do?" I ask my mentor, who's sprawled across a futon, his fourth bottle forgotten on the ground for a while.

"You don't know this girl if you're asking me that. I can see it in everything she does- everything she's done since she got here. She's fighting by the teeth to stay alive. She'll measure survival over anything. _Anything. _Gaging it over her pride shouldn't be a problem."

"She wants to protect her sister. She's doing it all for Prim." I say quietly, defending her.

Haymitch shrugs. "Whatever her motives, I'm sure she'll say yes. If you're really worried, don't tell her beforehand. Break the news during your interview. Then, when Panem's already primed, you can explain the logistics. Her side of the bargain. She can't really refuse when she sees the audience's reaction to your announcement."

I rub my temples. "That's even worse. Like forcing her." I groan.

Haymitch springs forward, and I move to defend myself from a hit, some sort of instinct, I guess. But the blow never comes. Instead, the burly man is clutching my arm with an uncomfortable force.

"Listen to me. If you're going to do this, you can't be squeamish about morals, or about using her. Decide now what's more important. That you die wholesome, or that she lives. Which is it, huh? What's more vital to you?"

"She lives." I say, my heart pounding.

"Then act like it." Haymitch growls, and he releases my arm. "I'm going to bed." Haymitch says, picking up his bottle.

"But, I still have to ask you-"

Haymitch rests his hand on my door. "We'll have all of tomorrow, when you get time to prepare for your interview. For now, get some sleep."

I nod, watching my mentor exit. Tonight, my sleep is filled with disturbing dreams.

I'm awoken, once again, by Effie's warbling voice. "Wake uuuup! It's going to be a big, big, big daaay!"

"Thank you, Effie." I say.

"Tomorrow night's the night of your interview! Isn't that so exciting!" Effie trills.

"Yes. Very exciting." I try to look enthusiastic, even though I feel exhausted. But Effie doesn't seem to notice. She's very upbeat, probably overjoyed now that her District is finally getting some positive attention.

I go through my new morning routine and then sit at the breakfast table with Haymitch and Effie.

"I don't think you need a whole lot of coaching on what to say in the interview, so we can focus on your plan today." Haymitch says, buttering a role.

"What plan?" Effie asks.

"Haymitch is going to tell me what supplies I should get, what I should expect. Like he does every year." I say.

"Oh, yes. Strategy is very important, and all." Effie says, disappointed with the lackluster answer. "I just _know_ you and Katniss will be wonderful!" Effie sings, changing the subject to something she understands.

"Normally we do today's preparations with both of you." Haymitch continues. "But obviously we won't want that."

Effie looks at us conspiratorially and scoots in closer. "What is it? Why don't you want Katniss to know?" Effie says with a hushed voice.

"Because, Effie, Peeta doesn't-" Haymitch begins, matching her tone, when Katniss enters the room.

I straighten up guiltily as she serves herself some stew. Haymitch eats in awkward silence, and Effie is hushed, I'm guessing still waiting for an explanation. I realized I've forgotten to get any food, but I don't feel hungry right now anyways. It's a little while before Katniss notices our silence, though.

She takes a gulp of her orange juice and looks at us. "So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?"

"That's right," Haymitch says.

"You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and eat at the same time." Katniss says.

"Well, there's been a change of plans." Haymitch begins nonchalantly. "About our current approach."

"What's that?" Katniss asks.

Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."

Katniss can't hide her emotions quickly enough before I see them. Her face falls, and she quickly assumes a hard mask. But I saw what she was feeling. Betrayal.

"Good." She says stiffly. A short stab of pain hits me in the chest. She's this quick to completely denounce me. This quick to deem me unforgivable. "So, what's the schedule?" Katniss is trying hard to act like Haymitch's announcement is nothing.

"You'll each have four hours with Effie for presentation and four with me for content. You start with Effie, Katniss."

Effie drags Katniss up from the table immediately, and they disappear to her room.

"So, the star-crossed lovers of District 12." I say to Haymitch.

He nods at me. "Even when you pronounce your love during the interview, I don't think it'll make her want to be your ally at once. For the beginning of the Games, she'll probably want to take stock of her surroundings- get settled in, as it were. But your offer will always be a possibility she can consider. I'm betting all of my money on the fact that you'll meet up sooner or later, and you'll both decide to play the love angle then. Until then, you have to make sure you don't die."

I guess I look slightly worried, because Haymitch continues. "Just because you're not with her from the start doesn't mean she's going to die. She can defend herself. Actually, she's probably a lot more deadly than you are. You just have to be patient. Wait for your big plan to kick in."

"So, what do you recommend I do to stay alive? You obviously don't have a lot of confidence in my fighting skills." I say.

"Katniss will be on her own, getting supplies and hiding. Are you capable of that? How are you with hunting? Foraging?"

I grimace. "I spent some time at the edible plants station, but not enough. I don't think I'll be able to find food for myself. As for hunting… Well… I'm okay with hand to hand combat. But I don't think that's effective against rabbits."

Haymitch arches his eyebrows at me. "And here I was, thinking that you were smarter than me." He chuckles, but quickly turns sober. "That's going to be a problem, kid."

I frown. "Maybe I could get some supplies at the Cornucopia. If I survived the bloodbath-"

"No one survives the bloodbath but Careers. And maybe that boy from District 11. The big one."

"Thresh." I offer.

Haymitch nods.

"So are you suggesting I get in with the Careers?" I ask doubtfully. "Didn't you say no one gets in with them that isn't already in their circle?"

"No, I said Katniss won't be able to get in with them. But you've done nothing to provoke them. And your score is high enough. If you give them something valuable enough in return, they might just let you camp with them. That would take care of your food problems for quite a while."

"I don't know if I have something to give them." I say.

Haymitch taps his fingers on the table, thinking. "You have knowledge of Katniss."

"You mean I pretend to help them get to her? But they'll never believe I'd really betray her, not after I tell the world I'm in love with her."

"So tell them it was all an act, to gain her trust. If the sponsors start believing it, just prove you were only tricking the Careers later. By how you protect Katniss."

I nod. There are so many pieces to sort through, so many things to prepare for and manipulate. But everything is falling together, creating a broader picture. A picture that I can fit into. A plan that just might work.

"And you're sure that Katniss will want to take part in this plan?" I ask him. No matter how many times he says it, I don't think my fears can be abated. Everything rests on Katniss' agreement.

"Don't worry. I'll make my messages clear." He says.

I'm not sure what he means by this, but I decide to stop pestering him on the point.

"Avoid the bloodbath." Haymitch says. "Catch up with the Careers when they're not so bloodthirsty."

"Okay." I say.

"So, you ready for the interview? They want to know about your life, they'll want to pry into everything. How do you want to play it?"

I know that each tribute generally plays up some angle. "Do you think I can get away with just likeable?" I ask him.

"Sure, you're funny. Nice. I bet you could pull of anything, actually. You know how to act. You're a good manipulator."

I cringe. Somehow this doesn't seem like a compliment.

Haymitch sighs and puts his feet up on the table. "You can go to your room for the rest of the time. I'm going to take a nap." He tells me.

"There's no other advice you want to give me?" I ask him.

Haymitch shrugs. "You know what you're doing. You're smart enough the figure the rest out." He says, and his eyelids close- effectively ending the conversation.

I trudge back to my room, feeling prepared at last and confident, but strangely heavy.


	14. Because of Love

**Suzanne Colins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters. **

**AN: I love you guys, and I love this story. PLEASE don't give up on me :) I'm still writing, and I am going to pick it up this week. Thank you SO much for reading, even though I'm the world's slowest updater. Maybe the awesomeness of this chapter will make it up to you ;)**

An Avox comes to wake me up for lunch. I feel rested and, although I can't shake all my uneasiness, ready to continue with the interview preparation. The presentation segment should be easy enough.

I join Katniss, Haymitch, and Effie at the table. Katniss seems to be in an even worse mood than before, and Effie doesn't look too happy either. As soon as we finish the meal, she whisks me off to begin.

"Katniss has a lot to learn about tact. It's a wonder she and Haymitch don't get along." Effie comments offhandedly, but then thinks for a moment and chuckles to herself, proud of her witty jab. "Now, Peeta. I know you're good at smiling and hand gestures." Effie chirps at me. "But we must work on your posture."

I never thought about it before, but I suppose I do have a tendency of hunching over when I'm uncomfortable. I always preferred to busy myself with something on the counter, away from my mother's harsh glances.

We spend over one hour on this single item. It's always "Sit tall! No, no, I don't mean look stiff!"

After Effie's fairly convinced I've mastered sitting, she releases me.

"I know that at least one of you will make a good impression." Effie says, reassuring herself as I exit the room, and pats me on the shoulder appreciatively.

I feel slightly guilty finishing early again, especially after Katniss has had so much trouble. It seems Effie thinks I'm perfectly suited to this. I've always had a way with people, but Katniss has been through a lot more. She has some right to be guarded and reserved. And besides, there's plenty wrong with me inside. Like being a good manipulator, for one.

With nothing left to do, I decide to venture onto the roof again. The night is even cooler tonight, but I don't pay attention to the cold. I give myself a break from my endless planning, thinking, and musing and let my mind go blank, just focusing on the sounds around me. With my eyes closed, I listen to the tinkling of wind chimes in the little garden Cinna pointed out to me. The blaring horns of Capitol people's cars. The faint hum of electrical generators that fuel the Capitol's fascinating gadgets. People laughing. A distant sound of someone crying. And suddenly, for no reason at all, I join them.

I stand up heavily, and make my way back down the stairs and into my room. My mind remains blank, a peaceful state I've missed these past few days. I go to sleep easily, and don't even care that it won't last.

In the morning, Merissa, Hasius, and Gellid appear over my bed. I startle. I forgot to lock my door, a habit I've taken up since the morning Effie intruded.

"Good mooooorniiing." Hasius calls in an oddly high voice. "Tonight is your interview. Portia's designed your suit to compliment Cinna's dress. There are no sparkles involved." He says, his face falling slightly. "The boy _never_ gets the fashion spotlight." Hasius pouts.

"And we _always_ get the boy." Merissa supplements.

"It wouldn't be so boring if we had gotten District 4." Gellid grumbles.

Merissa nods consolingly and then shushes the other two. "We're going to go through the same process as we did when we first met you." She tells me.

Once they're done with the scrubbing, polishing, and powdering, they debate my hairstyle. I try to act interested, but I've never been overly concerned about my appearance. I didn't have the time or money to buy hair gel or cologne. Thom and I had soap and combs, and I tried to be confident.

The prep team finally agrees on "tousled and casual". At about midday Portia enters, drawing the bag off of a striking black suit with flame accents. When I put it on, the stylists nod in approval. I feel good- handsome, for once. I've never been very attractive- not the attractive that gets girls. Not like Gale Hawthorne, or some of the boys Thom spends time with. Not the type of attractive that would get Katniss' attention.

"Wait, one more thing." Portia says, and pulls out a pair of black dress shoes.

"Are those _heels_? I'm not going to-" I start incredulously, before I remember our promise to Haymitch the day on the train.

"It's the perfect finishing touch." Portia says, proud of herself.

"Oh, good! See, there's a solution to everything, Gellid. I _told _you he wouldn't be as awful in the end as you thought." Merissa beams.

Suddenly I feel tears springing into my eyes. _Stop_. I tell myself angrily. _Don't make a fool of yourself here._ I wipe at my eyes roughly. It's ridiculous to be crying, after everything I've been through. But I still feel hot embarrassment as Portia hands me the stupid shoes, and I don't feel as good anymore.

"Peeta? Is something wrong?" Hasius asks.

"No." I say, trying to sound happy. "I'm grateful you've all helped me so much." _Stupid. Idiot. Baby. Whimp. They don't know any better, so why should you care? _

"Good." Portia says. "You need to be completely winning in this interview. You need to be memorable so you don't get lost in Katniss' shadow."

Her comment almost makes me feel better. Finally, someone who recognizes that Katniss is much better at all this than me. I might get along with Effie better, but Katniss will stun the sponsors. I'm sure of it.

The shoes are alright- they don't click when I walk, the heels are low enough. And it does make me look better- taller, a bit more dangerous. I won't be the short baker with the funny jokes. People won't see that as a threat.

I've prepared what I'm going to say- a few jokes, some funny stories. I'll be likeable enough. Haymitch thinks the audience will love it, but I'm overwhelmingly nervous. Not for the jokes. For the part about Katniss. And how I love her.

I've been thinking about it all night- how will I have the courage to tell all of Panem, if I couldn't even tell her? There have been days when I wanted to, days when she was hurting about her father or food or the reaping. And days when I wanted to out of pure boldness or jealousy of Gale. But I never did, any of those times, because something always stopped me. What would she want with me- someone she barely knew, who couldn't hunt and wasn't handsome and didn't even live in the seam. Sometimes when her eyes and her belly were hollow I saw something I didn't want to believe was true- that maybe she didn't want anybody at all. I prayed she was happier than that loneliness, prayed it was a sadness she would be able to forget. Even if she was with Gale, it would be better than seeing her alone. She deserves more than that.

"Are you ready?" Portia asks me, and I nod my head, unable to speak. The fear is tightening my throat and my lungs. _Come on Peeta, do this. Do this one thing, and you'll be alright. _

"Okay. Let's go." Portia orders, and we exit the prep room.

We step off of the elevator, and I look at Haymitch and Effie all dressed up, talking to each other. I see Katniss' prep team, excitedly chattering with each other. And then my eyes rest on the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. She's glimmering, sparkling, radiating flame and sunlight from every inch of her body. Jewels tinkle and shimmer when she moves ever so slightly, and her face is stunning- bright smile, shining grey eyes, and a brown braid falling down her back. All thoughts of speech disappear from my mind like wisps of smoke in the wind. There's nothing I want more, in this moment, than to stare at her. To capture her smile and keep her happy forever. I am warm, and shivering all at once, in the shadow of her beauty.

Really, I shouldn't be nervous to say that I love her, because everyone should already know. How could I not?

Katniss sees me and her smile grows bigger, but then quickly fades. I'm confused at first, but then I understand, and my own face falls in response. _Oh yeah, _I think. _She remembered she hates me. _

We enter the City Circle where the interviews are taking place- the stage is in the center, with screens surrounding it. The tributes are seated in an arc on the opposite side of the stage than the audience, who are in elevated platforms or standing in the surrounding streets.

As we walk to our seats on the far side of the arc, Haymitch comes up behind us.

"Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it." He growls at Katniss. It makes sense. If Katniss openly shows she hates me, our star-crossed lovers act won't be very believable. Haymitch is making Katniss think to the future, without her even knowing it.

I can tell Katniss is really nervous too- she keeps on wobbling as she walks. I stand close behind her in case she needs help, but we both make it to the chairs, and I can feel that we're both relieved.

I wish I wasn't going last- I'll have more time to be nervous. I try to find something to occupy myself while I wait for my turn. Looking around at the massive crowd doesn't help, so I focus on the tributes being interviewed instead. I make it a game, to see which tributes are playing the audience with an angle, and which ones aren't. The ones who aren't are mostly skinny and scared looking.

I watch as Cato, the boy from 1, layers all of his responses with slaughter. Rue is awing with tiny fabric wings attached to her dress, and she's determined not to give up, despite all of the things slated against her. Thresh from 11 makes an impression again, being the biggest tribute. His responses are strictly yes and no. I bet the sponsors will be clamoring for him.

It's Katniss' turn. She stands and makes her way to the stage, reflecting light the whole way. Caesar Flickerman shakes her hand, and they both sit down.

"So, Katniss. The Capitol must be quite a change from District 12. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?"

Katniss is slow answering. "The lamb stew." She says. She looks terrified, although she's fighting hard not to show it.

The audience laughs.

"The one with the dried plums?" Caeser asks her. "Oh, I eat it by the bucketful. It doesn't show, does it?" Caesar addresses the audience, a look of mock horror on his face.

"Now, Katniss." Caesar leans in. "When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of that costume?"

"You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?" She smiles, and I smile too. Bigger laughter from the audience.

"Yes, start then." Caesar says.

"I thought Cinna was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous costume I'd ever seen and I couldn't believe I'm wearing this, either." Katniss lifts her skirt up. "I mean, look at it!" The audience _ooh_s and _aah_s in response until Katniss stands up to spin. The audience loves it.

"Oh, do that again!" Caesar cries. Katniss keeps going, and she's completely engulfed in tongues of sparkling fire. It's even more impactful than when I first saw her. The audience is cheering now.

Katniss stops, off balance, and clutches Caesar's arm.

"Don't stop!" he says.

"I have to, I'm dizzy!" Katniss giggles.

Caesar puts his arm around her. "Don't worry, I've got you. Can't have you following in your mentor's footsteps." Panem thinks it's a riot, and they find Haymitch in the stands with the cameras. "It's all right. She's safe with me." His arm is still around her. "So, how about that training score?" Caesar says, finally releasing her. "E-lev-en. Give us a hint what happened in there."

Katniss looks up at where the Gamemakers are seated. "Um… All I can say is, I think it was a first."

They chuckle and nod up in their balcony.

"You're killing us. Details, details." Caesar says empathetically.

"I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?" She addresses the Gamemakers.

"She's not!" One of them shouts.

"Thank you. Sorry. My lips are sealed."

"Let's go back then, to the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping. And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?" Caeser asks quietly.

"Her name's Prim." Katniss says, and her voice sounds like heartbreak. "She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything."

The City Circle is absolutely silent, feeling guilty, maybe. Or, most likely, just engrossed in the drama.

"What did she say to you? After the reaping?"

"She asked me to try really hard to win."

"And what did you say?"

Katniss' voice changes to something unstoppable when she answers. Something deadly. "I swore I would."

"I bet you did. Sorry, we're out of time." Caesar says as the buzzer goes off. "Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen, tribute from District 12."

The applause continues for a full minute after Katniss steps down.

She is deadly. Haymitch was right when he said I was underestimating her, when I was so worried for her safety. She can definitely protect herself. As soon as she gets into the arena, she will be a killer. And a good one. I've always known it, really, but it's so much more real now. It speaks of her dedication to her sister, to everything that she's fighting for. _"She'll measure survival over anything. _Anything_." _Even, especially me. This thought hits me, and I'm almost winded by it. It's so obvious, but I never spent much time thinking about it. I've deeply considered everything else, but I've stayed far, far away from this. For the sake of my sanity, I suppose. If everything goes according to plan, if she stays alive the whole way and I stay alive to protect her, she'll have to kill me. I might die… At Katniss' hands.

"Peeta Mellark."

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_, I scream at myself. _What a perfect time to have a bone chilling epiphany, Peeta. Just perfect. _I feel a shiver run down my spine as I mount the steps up to the stage. _Not now. Don't think about it now. _

I do my best to brighten my eyes, smile, stand up straight. It's an acting job, and I have to nail my role. Because I'm not likeable, humorous or relaxed. I'm scared out of my wits. For one hundred different reasons.

I shake Caesar's hand- I only realize how cold mine are when I compare to his. We sit, and I go through my monologue- I talk about being a baker's son, poke fun at myself- I compare the tributes to their districts' breads. I'm charming. Hilarious. And catatonic on the inside.

I go through the shower anecdote when Caesar pops the question. Just like Haymitch thought he would. If he didn't, I would have found a way to bring it up. But it's no surprise, he's asked it of every male tribute who wasn't pimply or skinny. Because finding out if Cato from district 1 is single is way more important to the Capitol girls than what his weapon of choice is. It's the way they work.

"So, Peeta, do you have a girlfriend back home?"

I shake my head no, but I can tell that I'm not covering my emotions very well- specifically, the emotion that says I desperately wish I had one.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" Caesar pries.

Here it goes. Here it goes. I sigh, trying to exhale all of the fear away. And, amazingly, it works. I feel vulnerable, but not scared. Just… shy.

"Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

The crowd sounds sympathetic.

"She have another fellow?" Caesar asks.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her."

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" Caesar says, thinking he's got it all figured out. Thinking it could be that simple. That easy, that quick, and I've won her heart. But it's not, any of that. It's life or death. It's Cato killing me, or Thresh killing me. It's Katniss killing me. It's me dying, and her living, or her dying, and me dying inside. It's not simple.

I don't tell Panem that. I don't tell Katniss about my demons. I keep it simple, and absurd, and scary, and I'm swept up in emotion and bright lights and millions of eyes focused just on me.

"I don't think it's going to work out." I say. "Winning… Won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified.

Because of demons. Because of death. Because of love. I feel heat in my cheeks, in my chest, in every part of me. The words are like fire, like foolishness, passion, and fear. Like everything I am, pouring out.

"Because… Because… She came here with me."


	15. Haunted

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all its characters. **

**AN: Review! **

I look down at my lap, more terrified than I've ever been. What will she say? What will she think? Will it work?

I look up at the giant screens and I see Katniss' face, her mouth open in shock. She presses her lips together and ducks her head quickly.

"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," says Caesar, and I think he's really in pain over this. There are agonized cries from the audience.

"It's not good," I say.

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady. She didn't know?" Caesar asks.

I shake my head. "Not until now."

My eyes are still trained on the screen, where Katniss' face is displayed again. She looks up quickly, a deep blush on her cheeks, and then looks down again.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks the crowd. They all scream assent. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours."

The roar of the crowd is absolutely deafening. Of course it worked. "_Kid, it'd blow them away" _Haymitch told me. And it did. But how did it affect Katniss?

When the audience finally quiets, I choke out a "Thank you," and return to my seat. Katniss doesn't look at me.

The anthem plays and we all stand. The screens are dominated by a shot of us, standing next to each other. The Capitol is feeling some of the tragedy I've been feeling this whole time. And they're all rooting for us.

When the anthem ends the tributes file back into the lobby and onto the elevators. The mentors and stylists are cut off by the throng, so my only company on the ride up is the pair of 4 tributes, the male 3, and the two from 7. No one speaks to each other.

I wonder what my family is thinking back at home. Will they be proud of me, that I finally told her? Or more likely confused, that I did it in that way. My mother will probably be snickering. I wonder what Katniss' family thinks. Did they know already? Are they suspicious, or warming up to me? And Gale… I can imagine his face as he watches in the crowded town square. Confusion, at first, then jealousy, then anger and longing. And anxiousness, that she would love me back. Or, at least, that's what I would feel.

When I get to our floor, I'll talk to Katniss. I'll tell her about the plan. And I'll make sure she knows that it's not all an act, only her side will be. I know it's stupid. I've already decided that she doesn't like me, let alone love me. I've already seen her act more unfriendly to me than she ever has. I've already seen her _hate_ me. But somehow… I cling onto a tiny hope that my confession has made an impression on her. That something has changed.

The other tributes are let off, one by one, until the elevator finally reaches the 12th floor. I've just stepped out of the elevator when I see Katniss, her face the picture of rage, slamming into my chest with her hands. I fall backwards, losing my balance, and crash into something hard on the ground. It shatters from the force and sharp shards drive themselves into my hands as they instinctively fly out to brace the impact. I look down- it was an urn, filled with fake flowers.

"What was that for?" I gape, horrified. I'm so shocked, so betrayed by my hopes, that it comes out. I know what it was for.

How could I have even thought she would feel something? She never did, never will. And this has only made her hate me more.

"You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" Katniss shouts at me.

Behind her, I see the elevator doors opening, and the rest of the crew is belched out.

"What's going on? Did you fall?" Effie says, a note of hysteria in her voice. I look down at my hands for the first time- they're bleeding like crazy.

"After she shoved me." I say. Effie and Cinna take me by the elbows and help me up.

"Shoved him?" Haymitch turns on Katniss.

"This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" Katniss accuses.

I wince as I pull shards from my palms. "It was my idea. Hymitch just helped me with it."

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" Katniss glares at us.

"You _are_ a fool. Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own." Haymitch spits.

"He made me look weak!"

"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you need all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District 12!" Haymitch says.

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" Katniss protests.

Haymitch grabs her shoulders and pins her against the wall. I tense, but stay still. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?"

Katniss shoves Haymitch away, looking conflicted.

"He's right, Katniss." Cinna puts his arm around her.

"I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid."

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real." Portia assures her.

She's fighting hard against this. I wonder if I _should_ tell her the full plan, every detail Haymitch and I have thought through. It's good logic, that she can't deny. But I see in her eyes a battle between emotions. She's trying to decide if this will be good for her or if she's been used. I don't think telling her about "her part of the bargain" will work well to disprove the latter.

Things are falling apart. Katniss isn't going to agree. She's going to put herself in danger. Make my death worthless. And only because she's worried about her pride, or having to do it with _me_, or what people back home will think.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend." I say, wanting to be cruel for once because everything is on the line, and it's not working.

Katniss' cheeks turn red. "I don't have a boyfriend." She says angrily.

"Whatever." I growl. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides, _you_ didn't say you loved _me_, so what does it matter?"

Katniss pauses, thinking it through. Then her face turns worried, and she addresses the crew. "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?"

"I did." Portia chimes in. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush."

The others agree. I feel a small wave of relief wash over me. It looks like I was wrong about all hope being lost.

"You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," says Haymitch.

Katniss turns to me. "I'm sorry I shoved you."

"Doesn't matter," I shrug. "Although it's technically illegal."

"Are your hands okay?" She asks me.

I look down at them. The pain is just starting to spread through my fingertips. They're still bleeding. Badly.

"They'll be alright." I'm done being cruel.

We're all silent until Haymitch suggests we start dinner. We sit down for cream and rose petal soup, but as I pick up the spoon, I start to feel faint. My hands start bleeding faster.

"Peeta, we should get those bandaged." Portia suggests, and leads me away from the table. We take the elevator down to the lobby, where Portia finds a small medical clinic.

"The hospital is 10 more floors down, under the Training Center." Portia explains.

A tall man with smooth, chalk white skin cleans and bandages my hands before pronouncing me fit to go back.

"The cuts should heal by midday tomorrow." He says.

I must look incredulous because he explains further. "While I was cleaning the wounds I applied a factory produced medicine. We don't use your kind of primitive herbal concoctions," the doctor wrinkles his nose.

I bristle, but I'm grateful for the Capitol's lofty views and lofty advancements, because having an injury in the arena isn't a good idea.

Portia and I make our way back up to floor 12, and rejoin the group at dinner. When we all finish, we travel to the sitting room to watch the replay of the interviews. There I am, pronouncing my love for Katniss. Setting everything into motion. When the screen turns to black, we say our final goodbyes to Effie. She praises us, mildly insults us, and then leaves with tears in her eyes.

Haymitch rakes his eyes over us.

"Any final words of advice?" I ask him.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Got it?" Haymitch responds.

"And after that?" Katniss asks.

_Catch up with the Careers. Offer them knowledge about Katniss. Get food in return. Leave Careers, meet up with Katniss. Be in love with Katniss, get her sponsors. Protect Katniss. Die. _

I have the list memorized.

"Stay alive." Haymitch says. That's all of Katniss' list, and she'll succeed.

We both nod. Katniss leaves for her rooms, and I'm left with Portia and Haymitch.

"Thank you, Portia," I say sincerely. Despite the whole shoe debacle, she's been kind to me.

I turn to my mentor. "Haymitch…" I begin, and he nods, leading me out of the room and saying goodnight to my stylist.

"I told you she wouldn't agree right away. She'd want to get settled in…" He begins.

"And the offer would be in the back of her mind. We'd meet up later and let the acting begin. I remember. But I haven't given her an offer. Haven't told her that she needs to act in love with me, too. You explained some of it today- that romance is what sponsors want. But she doesn't know that we _both_ have to be romantic, right? That we have to continue this, beyond making her look good?"

"And you don't want to tell her that?" Haymitch asks.

"Did you see how angry she was? I don't think she'd want to hear right now."

"I think she would oppose simply to spite you," Haymitch snickers. "You're right, kid. Good thinking."

"So? How is she going to find out, if we don't tell her now?"

"I'll take care of it, alright?" He says.

Something Haymitch said earlier replays in my mind. _"Don't worry. I'll make my messages clear." _

"What did you mean, when you said you'll make your messages clear?" I ask him.

Haymitch shakes his head. "You're gonna want some hope. If she listens, you might die happy."

"What? What are you talking about?" I persist, completely befuddled. Haymitch simply walks away.

"Goodnight, kid. Good luck. And it was nice knowing you." He says over his shoulder.

I feel slightly touched. He wasn't a bad mentor. He spent hours with me, dedicated to saving Katniss. He fought for a cause. That's not something a hopeless drunk would do.

I wish I had an answer from Haymitch about his "messages", but I know that I won't be able to track him down now. I've watched him leave the floor and go who-knows-where at night. I'm surprised they let him. It doesn't matter. I need to get my sleep, anyways.

I move slowly to my room, exhausted. I collapse onto the plush mattress and feel instant relief in my sore legs, arms, and back. My eyes close, and I command my body to sleep.

My body, apparently, has other ideas. No matter how hard I try, I can't fall unconscious. I lay silently in my bed, staring at the smooth white ceiling. It isn't good, because it gives me time to think.

My demons, as I've called them, are very present tonight. I think about Katniss dying. I think about Katniss killing me. I think about me killing other children. And suddenly I'm so, so scared. Alone. Incapable. I picture my father's face, picture him in the justice building, telling me to stay his son. Telling me not to become a monster. I've been so caught up in planning with Haymitch, so caught up in desperation that I almost forgot my promise. I've been thinking I'll do anything, any unspeakable thing to make sure my plan works. I've already crossed lines. Felt monstrous for what I've done. But I don't want to fail my father. If his son is going to die, he shouldn't have to lose him completely.

Only days ago I swore I wouldn't be the Capitol's pawn. I felt deadly rage. How could I overlook any of that? I feel ashamed.

My chest heaves, and I can't calm down. Everything is hot and stuffy and tight. I throw off the down covers and scramble out of bed. Panic wells up inside of me, and I feel so alone that all I want is to be back home, with my father and my brother and bakery smells, and dough to busy my hands. Delly. The market where we get our grain. The little meadow behind the school, that only I know about. Watching Katniss from afar. Not knowing that she hates me.

_Don't become a monster._

"I don't want to." I whisper to the dark. Tears come to my eyes, unbidden. "I don't want to." I gasp, my voice breaking and sobs taking the place of words. "I don't- I don't want to daddy. I-" I gasp in air before another round of tears come. "I don't want to die."

I'm sweating now, and I feel so claustrophobic that I want to scream, or curse, or break down crying again. I stagger towards the door, feeling like I need to throw up, and practically run up to the roof, not caring how noisily I slam the door behind me.

The cool air washes over me like a blanket of fine, misty relief. I breath in slowly through my nose and exhale through my mouth, something my father taught me to do when I was upset or scared. I stand, looking out at the city lights, feeling the cool wind brush through my hair until I can't stand any longer.

I sit cross legged behind the force field. There are people out in the streets, drinking and dancing. They're celebrating the coming event. They're celebrating death.

"You should be getting some sleep."

I startle involuntarily. Katniss is standing about a yard behind me. I don't turn my head.

I give my head a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all."

Katniss pads up to the railing and leans over it, watching the Capitol people down below. "Are they in costumes?" She squints.

"Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here." I look at her, tired eyes, dressed in a fleece nightgown. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off." She murmurs.

"Thinking about your family?"

She turns away from the rail, looking slightly guilty. "No," she admits. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." She studies me. "I really am sorry about your hands."

Actually, I haven't been thinking about them much. It was slightly painful to get ready for bed, but the medicine the doctor gave me is good. And I've had more important things to think about.

"It doesn't matter, Katniss. I've never been a contender in these games, anyway."

"That's no way to be thinking," She says.

"Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself… And…" Two other things.

"And what?"

I tell her about one of them. "I don't know how to say it exactly. Only, I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" Katniss shakes her head. "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."

"Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" Katniss asks.

"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing that I could think of a way to… To show the Capitol that they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games."

"But you're not. None of us are. That's how the Games work." Katniss says ruefully.

"Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me. Don't you see?" I persist.

"A little. Only, no offense, but who cares, Peeta?"

"I do," I tell her, my voice icy cold. "I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" I stare at her, challenging her to say "_Me. Care about me." _But she doesn't. Of course she doesn't.

"Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive."

As if. That wasn't meant for me. "Okay." I smirk at her. "Thanks for the tip, sweetheart."

She looks like I just slapped her. "Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District 12."

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do. Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it," She spits, then turns on her heels, leaving me alone on the roof.

I go back down to my room as soon as I think she's had enough time to enter hers. I stuff my face in my pillow, cursing my tears and how easily they come, and pray that sleep lulls the pain.


	16. Perpetual Night

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters. **

**AN: I have absolutely no excuse that could satisfy you. I am a failure. But here's a chapter… Just know, I still love you. **

Everything is perpetual night. Perpetual, creeping, icy night.

I've never been this familiar with the forest floor- the itchy, poky needles that make up my cold bed, the intermittent hoots and howls of unknown and unseen monsters in the dark.

There's a layer of cool wind that settles over me- slicing through the thin red blanket I have draped across my knees. And the hunger slices through me too, sharp and chilling as a steel blade.

The shivering could be from fear or cold.

I'm glad it's a forest, I suppose. I think Katniss is happy right now, somewhere in this perpetual night, sitting in a tree.

Or maybe she's shivering, just like me.

Or maybe she's dead.

I remember the gong, the sixty second wait on footing just itching to explode. When the flurry began, I ran as fast as I could. But my strength is in my arms, not my legs. Wrestlers aren't historically good runners. I grabbed a tiny bag, lying on the outskirts of the field, and laboriously dashed for tree-cover. I made it through with only a nick of a spear to my side.

The headlong sprint was almost easy. I was oblivious to the fear of the first moments. It was the time _before_ the gong that made me shake.

_3… _

_2… _

_1… _

_I know the booming voice will come soon, I know I only have a few minutes before my life is changed forever. Or possibly silenced forever. _

_The morning light woke me a few hours ago- a heartless gray glow that caught in my eyes and exposed my face in the mirror- naked and afraid. _

_I climbed out of the shower listlessly. It seems that I have been listless since I arrived in the Capitol. Going through trembling motions, crying more than speaking. Cowardice was my only companion. _

_And still is. _

_Effie and Portia had me dress in standard issue, and led me through a steel maze until I reached the launch room. Katniss was nowhere in sight. My arm still throbbed with the memory of a syringe. _

_I didn't bleed. But I know that if I did, the faceless Capitol doctors would have been able to see the weakness in the red, the frailty that is infused in my veins. I know I should be braver, should act like a man for once, should stop _crying_, but I don't. _

_10… _

_9… _

_8… _

_The coward enters a glass tube. The coward rises, as if to embrace that gray heartless sky. _

_And with a distinct Capitol _whoosh, _the coward is exposed to merciless sky. _

_Except the sky isn't gray. It's blue. _

_The color is like a robin's egg Prim Everdeen once sold to me to fry. The yolk was too tiny to make much use of, but it was Prim, so I bought it. _

_That blue: porcelain and blinding and comforting all at once, gave me just a bit of strength. _

_Green trees, gold cornucopia, olive and pale and blond and brown tributes, and a bright blue sky. _

_3… _

_2… _

_Katniss is standing a ways away. She's here. Under this same sky. Faced with this same death. Her feet are positioned towards the gold. She's a silhouette framed in cerulean. I shake my head, once, slightly, because I know that she's wrong. _

_But I never had power over her. I never had power over anything. _

_1… _

_LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. LET THE SEVENTY-FOURTH HUNGER GAMES BEGIN._

The games began. I ran to the woods. And here I am now, under the cover of darkness. Perpetual night.


	17. The Struggle

**Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games and all of its characters.**

**AN: Please review? Please? 6 months of not posting anything couldn't have broken our sacred bonds, could they? :D I hope you like it. PS There's a bit of language in this chapter... Enter: Cato!**

At first, I don't even remember where I am.

I'm blinded by darkness, an inky curtain that shields me from the terrifying reality of this strange forest and also leaves me feeling vulnerable.

And then, through the darkness, I make out the shape of a boy.

"Help!" I yell, foolishly, stumbling up from my pine needle nest. It was absolutely the most ridiculous thing to do. I'm not sure if I was shouting for protection, or if I was shouting for someone to help _him_. Because a few seconds after I yell, I realize that the boy is dead.

He's small with a crest of messy brown hair. His green eyes are open- glazed over. The handle of a blade is stuck in the perfect center of his chest- a beacon of deadly fate pointing straight towards his heart. His face has been somehow shattered. I can't even tell who he is.

I trip over a tree trunk and gag, retching up air.

He's not the first dead person I've seen, of course. At home, people were dying all of the time. They would sometimes lie in the streets before family members or peacekeepers or Katniss' mother would find them. He's not even the first person I've seen who's been murdered.

But he is the first glimpse of the future I've ever witnessed.

I have to shake it off. I've been keeping company with cowardice for too long. I was lucky I wasn't killed in the bloodbath- I escaped it through pure luck alone.

I clench my fists and pick my way blindly across the forest, leaving what was undoubtedly a calling card of the Careers behind. As soon as the body is out of sight, I sit down to take my first good look at the contents of my small backpack.

It's hard, in the dark, but I know that it's time to actually accept that I'm in the arena and I can't just run and fall asleep somewhere and expect to be alive when the sun rises.

I am careful to pick out the items from the zippered pouch. For all I know, I could shake out a match or a scrap of food and lose it in the black underbrush forever. It doesn't take long to unpack, though. Lying on the pine needles before me is my little red blanket, an apple and a half-loaf of bread, a little water bottle sloshing with liquid, and a machete.

The machete takes me aback. First of all, it looks far too deadly and large to have fit inside the little pack and not shred the fabric to pieces as I ran. Second, it occurs to me that this machete is my humanity and my life wrapped up in a single shining piece of metal.

I'm intensely grateful for the water bottle. I try to remember the last time I'd eaten or drank anything. It must have been more than 12 hours ago, before I left my room in the training center.

I gulp the water down greedily, letting the last drops quench my burning throat. I can't believe that I actually fell asleep after the exhaustion of the running hollowed out my stomach and left my throat parched.

If I'm capable of that, I have no doubt that I will be killed in my sleep somewhere fairly soon.

My heart leaps in my chest at the sound of a noise- I grip my machete automatically. But it's only the anthem of Panem, playing from speakers that are who-knows-where.

This means that we'll know who died in the first few hours of the Games. This means that Katniss' life is on the line.

I catch the sight of a wavering image, cast upon the crystal dome of the sky. It's the face of the girl from District 3, Fuchsia. The boy from 4, Hunter. District 5's Garrett. Rayna, Felix, Gretchen, and Amal from 6 and 7. Drake from 8. Cole and Emilie from 9. Alissia from 10.

I suddenly regret my gift for remembering names.

There are no more pictures. No one from District 12. Eleven tributes dead, and Katniss and I are still entrenched in foliage, breathing.

I know I can breath a lot easier now.

"Yeah!" I hear someone whoop in the distance.

I freeze. My fingers grip the machete so hard I think they're going to fall off. Someone's here. And they're still coming.

"Not a bad job!" A female calls out, laughing. Her voice is closer than the first cheer.

"As if. 12 is still out there, and we lost Hunter. And what about the giant?"

12. They must be talking about Katniss, because I doubt that I'm of any consequence to them. And the giant must be Thresh, from 11.

The last speaker has the distinct arrogant drawl of Cato. And just like that, I know that I've been killed. The Careers are here, so close to me. Haymitch's plan about meeting up with them when they're not so bloodthirsty is beautiful in theory, but I'm pretty sure that these people are _always _bloodthirsty. In about five minutes, I'll be their next kill.

I consider running. But what good would that do? They'd catch up to me in a heartbeat. I just can't accept that this is over before it's even begun. I have to help Katniss. I can't leave her alone only hours into the Games.

I do what I've done for years. I use my words.

"Having a pleasant evening?" I call through the darkness in the general direction of the Careers, forcing the waver out of my voice.

"Cato!" A girl screeches, and crashes forward through the woods until I can see her vague outline in the darkness. The rest of the pack follows eagerly.

"I said, having a pleasant evening?" I revere at the strength of my voice, my stance. This one conversation could be the last I'll ever have. I can only pray that Haymitch's theories are correct.

Cato strides to the front of the group. They're so close now that we can see each other's faces. There's no chance of hiding or running now.

Someone flicks on a flashlight, temporarily blinding me.

"Oh, it's Lover Boy," Cato jeers as I squint against the beam.

"Good to see you too, Cato." The girl from 1 stands just at his shoulder. I nod at her. "Glimmer."

Glimmer snickers, her soft face a foil against the harsh flashlight beam. She's beautiful, but the long knife clasped in her hand is a bit of a more pressing issue.

"Strange that you can seem so calm, Lover Boy, when we're about to impale you," Glimmer sings, mimicking Cato's nickname for me.

I shake my head, spreading my arms wide. "You're not going to kill me, Glimmer."

Cato shoves her aside and leers at me. He literally bares his teeth. "You're right, dirty 12. She's not going to kill you. I am."

I duck just in time to be punched in the face, narrowly avoiding the flash of a blade to my heart. Cato growls, encouraged by the screams of the pack, and swings his knife again. My machete clangs against it, and I blindly slash at Cato's head. I can tell that it's not making contact.

Cato leaps backwards, a deranged grin marring his face. "You really think you're gonna win in a knife fight with me, Lover Boy? Who do you think you are?"

I swipe my fist against my forehead, where Cato's fist landed. It comes away smeared with blood.

"If you want an easy kill, I suppose you could stick me with it," I say, my voice musing and light. "But I apologize. I'm not the best with knives. Fist fights are more my thing."

"Unlucky for you!" Cato shouts, and launches against me again. His knife slashes through my arm, and I cry out with pain, nearly losing my balance. My arm is a screaming point of fire, the pain tearing through every nerve of my body.

It's a real battle to be able to speak, but I do it. "If I could continue. Knives are the easy way out, don't you think? Why don't we even the playing field a bit? You seem like the type who would want a challenge. We'll both drop the weapons, and go at it with nothing but our strength to help. Oh… Wait. That wouldn't be even. Because Two is just full of the Capitol's little bitches, right?" I find it within me to chuckle, even. "Trust me, Cato. I saw the way you were looking at President Snow. Not to mention the way you watched Marvel in those chariots… As if you were imagining that costume would just-"

With an inhuman roar, Cato launches himself at me, knife abandoned to the pine needles, and slams all of his weight straight onto my neck.

I'm choking. Cato is strangling me.

_Come on, come on. It's the end. _

As my dying wish, I push back against him.

We're slamming into trees, scattering the other careers, rolling over pine needles and my sight is blotched with red and bursts of light and always Cato's fists. But I was made for this, this battle, and I'm not going to lose. I gain the upper hand and pummel the bastard over and over. My fists are weapons, for the first time, my strength is powerful.

Cato gasps against my rain of blows and launches himself up, dragging me down. His fist crashes against my mouth, and this time the pain is too much.

I lay on the forest floor, jeering cries of Cato's allies ringing in my ears. A sliver of brutal wind washes over me, but the inferno of pain emanating from every broken piece of me is still red hot.

_Katniss. _

It's the only word that could possibly save my life.

Strength is slow to come. But I can feel it approaching. It creeps up through my chest and into the searing pain of my shattered jaw, filling my head with determination instead of pain.

_Katniss_, the strength whispers. _Katniss. Katniss, Katniss, Katniss. _

_Katniss is alive. And you will be damned if you don't make it, too. _

"Eeeeeeraaagh!" I grunt, a guttural sound, unexpected, but empowering.

My arms surge with power and I force all of my weight against Cato- lean and built, but ultimately weaker. Cato crashes to the ground with me on top of him, ready to bring down a volley of blows.

"Cato?" I hear another girl's voice ring, probably his district partner. Her voice sounds frantic.

With that offer of help, I feel Cato's muscles shifting ominously beneath my grasp. If there's anything Cato hates, it must be needing help.

"I'M- GOING- TO KILL YOU- LOVER- BOY," Cato grunts through snarling lips.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cato's hand scrabbling in the underbrush for something. But all I really see is red, red, red, rage against this boy who thinks he can take everything I love away from me. I want to kill him, too. And maybe I would have. If he hadn't found what he was looking for in the dirt.

"Who's so tough now, huh, Lover Boy? Who's the bitch? There's nothing _gayer_ then professing your _love _for some slutty little _orphan from 12_," Cato hisses, pressing the fallen blade against my throat.

In this moment, I am intensely aware of many things. Fresh green pine needles prickle at the back of my neck. The sound of nightlife is marred by the heavy, expectant breathing of the Careers and my own rasping breaths. The loudest of all is my thunderous heartbeat playing an erratic rhythm in my ears. The scent of the forest, too- earthy and fresh, and somehow like home- is overshadowed by the salty smell of sweat. Little points of searing pain throb, screaming for attention, at my arm and jaw, but they reside in the back of my mind, in the peripheral of my battered consciousness. My focus lies on the blade of the knife pressed against the hollow of my throat: cold and sharp.

Cato hasn't killed me yet. Which means it's time to speak.

"Speaking of slutty orphans from 12," I choke out. I can barely speak for the blade point and my disgust in the words. "I heard she got a higher score than all of you in training. Seems to me your chances this year are a bit slim."

Cato barks out a laugh, pressing the blade down a little bit more. Painful air rushes out of my throat.

"Then your chances are even slimmer, Lover Boy. We'll find her and kill her. She's nothing we can't handle. And _you_… Well, you're going to get a quick reunion with your girlfriend on the other side. If she even wants to see you, after you've failed her."

Cato's words receive a few chuckles from the Careers. The threats are dangerously real and nightmarish. I'm hearing all of my worst dreams from this _stranger_, this brute who knows absolutely nothing about who I am.

"Sounds like a good plan. Except, how exactly are you going to find her? If you don't remember, she's from my district." I know that in this moment, I'm probably being recorded. I can't say anything that would get Katniss in trouble. "Katniss' father was a miner. She went down in those dark tunnels hundreds of times, to mourn him and think. In those mazes… It was impossible to find her. She can climb. I know. I…" I make my voice softer, sad. "I've tried."

A round of jeering laughter springs up from Cato and the pack in response to my lie. But I hear a rustle from behind me, and Clove approaches my limited field of vision.

"Cato," she says hesitantly. "What if he's right?"

Cato's hard, brutal mask doesn't shift. "We'll find her. There are more of us than her. We don't need any help from _dirty 12_."

Clove's determination doesn't waver, though. "Cato, you idiot, that's the _point_. We can kill her once we find her. But we aren't going to find her. Numbers don't help with that."

Cato pushes the blade down, again. "I don't care," he growls. "I don't care if he could kill other tributes with his eyes, he's _not _coming with us."

Clove smirks at her district partner. "Is that because of your bruised ego?" She laughs, a high, musical laugh. "Because it's not the only thing he managed to bruise."

Cato shoves up from the ground, dragging my neck up with him. At least now we're both standing, but the knife is still firmly in place.

"I'm going to kill him right here, Clove, or can't you little brain understand that? He wouldn't help us find his girlfriend even if we let him live."

"Umm… May I interject?" I choke out, my jaw throbbing. It's hard to breath now.

Clove whips her head toward me, her expression cruel and calculating. "Sure," she says.

"First, she's not my girlfriend."

Clove rolls her eyes.

"And second, I don't even love her. Has it occurred to you idiots that I'm acting to get the sponsors to love _me_. There's nothing more lucrative than romance in the arena. My mentor came up with it. In all reality, I know that she'd kill me without a second thought. So… I'd rather kill her first."

Glimmer steps up from the rest of the pack now. "How can we trust you? _I… I've tried_," She mimics my dejected voice.

"You're right. This could be just as much of an act as my love for her. But here's the thing. If I go with you, then you have a 100% better chance of finding her. I know what her snares look like, I know _her_. If it turns out I actually do want to protect her, you can kill me pretty easily."

"We know he's a good fighter," Clove suggests, smirking towards Cato's injuries.

Cato releases my neck from his chokehold, just slightly. But it's the movement towards hope. He doesn't say a word, though.

At Cato's silence, Clove is prompted to take center stage. She turns and faces the rest of the Careers. "We need him to find 12. As soon as she's dead, he can go too."

I see a few of the others nodding. But Cato still hasn't released me.

"Cato." Clove shouts sternly at him. "You know that I'm right. Now why don't you pick your sorry dejected ass up so we can actually _kill _some people. Sitting around here isn't doing us any good. Peeta," she jerks her head towards me, and I'm surprised that she even knows my name. "You come up to the front. You know who our next target should be. Now it's on your shoulders."

With one more menacing look from Clove, Cato releases me roughly. "No, you're not always right, Clove." Cato's voice is dark and impenetrable… Ominous.

But I'm free.

Cato stalks to the front of the pack, gathering up fallen supplies and barking out orders at the others to maintain a feeling of control. I silently thank God for sending Clove to my rescue. If it had been suggested by anyone other than his district partner, I'm sure I would be dead right now.

Clove's small frame is topped with dark brown hair. Her near-black eyes focus on me in a slightly off way. Clove extends her hand, revealing the rows of daggers and knives on the inside of her jacket.

I clasp her hand and shake it. Hers is a hand very capable of killing.

Her voice, sounding deadly and sarcastic and only slightly crazed, is directed specially towards me.

"Welcome to the Alliance."


End file.
